


A Posse Ad Esse

by medjc



Series: A Posse Ad Esse [1]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Original, Angst, BASICALLY a mostly canon compliant original setting, Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, F/M, Humor, Major Original Character(s), Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, but based on canon, except I got very carried away, look if you don't like lots of original stuff then this isn't for you, my take on what happened after the vault, plot heavy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 15:54:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 215,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11877846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medjc/pseuds/medjc
Summary: They'd worked so hard to get to this moment. To stand at the precipice of triumph, where only a handful of others have stood before them. All the blood they spilled, all the sacrifices they had to make; it was a small price to pay for a moment like this one. And besides, it can only be downhill from here, right?Opening the Vault was supposed to be the hard part.Turns out, it's all the shit that comes after it that's the real pain in the ass.---In which the end of one tale is just the beginning of another.





	1. Prologue

Trust is built in moments.

At least, it is for people like them. People who tend to tell more lies than truths, whose selfish natures can sometimes get the better of them. _Giving someone the benefit of the doubt_ is a phrase that doesn’t exist in their vocabulary, and for all the ways they’re different from each other, in this one they’re exactly the same.

So they build it in moments, because that’s all they know how to do. Little flashes of honesty here and there, hidden away in light-hearted jokes and meaningful looks. They’re small things, trivial things, but over time all those tiny pieces start adding up to something bigger. Something neither of them could have ever expected.

Friendship. Dependence. Maybe even a certain kind of fondness.

And in this moment, they both finally begin to understand it. This one moment, with static humming in the air and a comfortable silence stretching between them. There’s something they both want to say but don’t need to, and something else they don’t know how to explain and are too afraid to try. It’s a strange thing, to look at each other and see themselves reflected back. To realize that all along they’ve just been two sides of the same coin, fighting so bitterly over the past that they forgot about the future they’ve made together.

Then one of them moves, and neither could say which, but it doesn’t matter. The moment’s over, already an echo of a memory, hastily dismissed out of fear of the unknown. And that’s okay, they both think, because they have time. Time to figure each other out, to figure _themselves_ out. They’ve waited this long, they can wait a little more.

Besides, there’s phat loot to collect. Mysterious, glowy Vault boxes don’t just open themselves.

They reach for it together, that same electric feeling in the air igniting in their veins as their fingers touch the stone. Rock starts to break away and pull apart, light flooding from the gaps. It’s _bright_ , so bright that they have to look away, at each other, exchanging this look of _what the hell_ and _this probably isn’t good_. If there’s anything in the box, it’s obscured by the glare, which grows more and more intense with each passing second. Eventually they have to shut their eyes altogether, the light too painful to continue squinting through.

There’s an resounding crack, a roll of thunder in the distance.

And then they begin to fall.

Even though their vision is limited, the feeling of plummeting down to who even knows where is unmistakable. They call out for one another, grabbing desperately for sleeves or fingers or whatever they can reach, but when the thunder roars again they can’t help but clap their hands over their ears. It booms, over and over, unrelenting. With every _crack_ and _sizzle_ it gets louder, closer. There’s so much electricity in the air that they choke on the heat of it, suffocating.

They can just barely make each other out, hazy silhouettes against the blaze. But somehow he finds her, his hands on her face and in her hair and over her ears. His fingers are wet and slippery but he holds on, and she’s too paralyzed with fear to resist. It all presses in, the light and the noise and the heat. They’re drowning in their senses and it’s too much, it’s _too much_ , but there’s nothing they can do except cling to one another. When lightning arcs across the space above them and strikes them both, they can’t even hear their own screams.

Everything goes black for one long, terrifying second.

And then.


	2. Willful Ignorance

There’s something wrong with what is happening right now. Actually, there’s two things.

Firstly, she’s not dead. Now she knows how that sounds, but after what she just went through, she doesn’t think anyone could really blame her for expecting the worst. It was pretty touch and go for a minute there.

Secondly, she has sand in some _very_ uncomfortable places.

Fiona manages a cough, which hurts, and then a wheeze, which hurts a little less. Then she goes ahead and adds her mouth and nose to the list of uncomfortable places with sand in them. If the sheer amount she just inhaled is anything to go by, she’s laying face down on the ground. The very hot and apparently sandy ground, she might add.

Okay, well, as much as she loves eating dirt, she’d rather _not_ be doing that right now. So she starts rolling herself onto her back, putting the tiniest amount of weight on her left arm before realizing that’s a very, _very_ bad idea. Biting back a yelp, she flops back over onto her belly. Her whole side feels like it’s on _fire_ , all the way from her ear down to her back and arm. She wiggles around a bit, trying to get a better view of her forearm, and then immediately wishes she hadn't. The backs of her fingers look almost charred, the skin already flaking off and starting to blister. Oh yeah, that’s totally going to get infected. She’s calling it right now, no doubt about it. If she’s lucky, she won’t lose the whole hand.

After some careful maneuvering with her right arm this time, she eventually manages to get herself on her back. A clear, deep blue sky stretches above her, not a cloud in sight. Which is weird, because the last thing she remembers, she was in a Vault, and Vaults don’t have pretty blue skies. Or sand, for that matter.

Then again, she wasn’t aware they had creepy boxes that unleash the fury of hell when you touch them either, until about five minutes ago. So there’s that.

Wait a second. Where the hell is Rhys? She cranes her neck around- which feels like crap, just like everything else right now- but she doesn’t see any sign of him from where she’s laying. Just. A lot of weirdly colored sand. Has it always been this orange?

“Rhys?” Fiona calls out, starting to push herself up on one elbow. She can tell she’s in a ditch, but there’s nothing else around to help her figure out exactly _where_ she is. “Rhys, where are you?”

No response. She tries again a few more times, at one point reaching up to her earpiece to see if she can make contact with him that way. It seems busted though, the line gone completely silent. So _if_ Rhys is even nearby, he’s either unconscious or... otherwise incapable of answering her.

Okay. No need to panic. Things like this happen all the time. People get teleported to the middle of nowhere by freaky Vault lightning on, like, a daily basis. This is completely fine!

_...Hooolyshitwhatisshegonnadogoddammitcrapshit-_

Something moves in the corner of her eye and she whips her head around so fast that her neck cracks. Which _hurts_ goddammit, everything does, and she can’t even sigh in annoyance about it without wanting to break down into tears. It would have been worth it if it was Rhys, but all she can make out through the ridiculously bright sunlight is a dark blob of something being gently swept along the perimeter of the ditch. A dark blob that looks suspiciously like her hat.

She tentatively pats the top of her head. Yep, it’s gone. Dammit.

Well, if there’s one thing that’s sure to get Fiona moving, it’s the notion of losing her hat. Large amounts of money are also effective, but the hat is a sentimental thing. She has a deep emotional connection to it. Plus it makes her look cool.

Sitting all the way up is easy enough, since she was already halfway there anyway, but standing... standing is a process. She rolls herself onto her hands and knees first- well, _hand_ and knees, since her left arm is effectively useless- and then slooowly pushes herself upright. Her whole body aches and her joints feel like they’re filled with cement, but nothing seems to be broken at the very least. As she whines and whimpers the rest of her way to her feet, she attempts to dust some of the sand out of the creases of her jacket.

Somehow, doing that just makes it worse.

Sighing- and trying to ignore how badly sighing hurts- Fiona puts her hands on her hips and considers the incline out of the ditch. Alright. First thing’s first; reacquire her hat. That’s obviously priority number one here. Then- and only then- will she look for Rhys. He might be lying around here somewhere in a puddle of his own drool, knocked out, maybe, but hopefully still alive. Because if he’s dead, she’s going to... well, she doesn’t know what she’ll do. But she doesn’t have the upper body strength to drag his corpse all the way home, so. Rhys is definitely alive. He has to be. For the sake of her squishy arms.

It takes an embarrassingly long time for her to climb the slope. Once she’s at the top, she takes a moment to just soak it in, all the sunlight and the heat and the... sand. She turns all the way around in a circle but wow there’s really nothing else out here. From what she can tell, she’s in some kind of gorge, steep cliff faces stretching as far as she can see on either side of her. Other than that, it’s just her and the desert.

Her hat is on the ground a few feet away from her, upside down and already filling with sand. Great. She’ll be brushing the stuff out of her hair for weeks. She starts ambling over to it, her gait slow and a bit awkward to compensate for the absolute _agony_ she’s in, but then a breeze picks it up and sends it flying even further away.

Oooh. You want to play this game, wind? Fine. Fiona limps over to where her hat landed, but just as she gets close enough to grab it, another gust rolls on through and the brim slips right between her fingers.

Really.

With a huff, she starts marching after it. It blows up over a small hill and down the other side, and after struggling her way up to the precipice, Fiona nearly keels over at the top. But no, she can’t stop here, not when victory is so close she can almost _taste_ it. Wiping the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, she looks up.

And almost goes into full cardiac arrest, because out of all the things she might have expected to see in the middle of this sabulous hellhole, another _person_ was not one of them.

Another person who is... way too short to be Rhys. They’re wearing one of those cowboy capes and a large, brimmed hat, and they have a scarf pulled up over the lower half of their face. They have goggles on too, so Fiona can’t tell if they’re just as surprised as she is or... what.

But whoever this is, they have her hat. It looks like they were in the process of shaking the grit out of it before she showed up and now they’re just frozen with their arms outstretched, staring at her. At least, she thinks they’re staring at her? She’s not sure, actually.

“Um, hi?” Fiona tries. The stranger doesn’t say anything, but does clutch the hat a little closer. Oh, fantastic. She’s been here five minutes and she already has to try and wrangle her property back from some tiny cowboy... thief... person. This day just keeps getting better and better.

“Listen, buddy,” Fiona says slowly, starting to edge closer. “I know you probably just found that and thought, ‘Oh, what a neat hat! Nobody’s around so I guess it’s mine now!’ But it actually happens to belong to me. So. What you’re doing right now? It’s called stealing.”

The stranger cocks their head, looking down at the hat, and then back up at Fiona. Oh no. She doesn’t even have to see their face to know what they’re thinking. _She_ wants it, which is making _them_ want it even more.

“ _Hey_ ,” Fiona raises her voice, stumbling forward to try and rip it from their greedy little hands. They dodge her easily, almost skipping as they circle back around her. What an asshole. “Give it back. That hat is _mine_ you lousy, undersized twer-”

She doesn’t even have time to finish that admittedly mediocre insult. There’s a blur of motion, and all the breath is knocked right out of her as her back hits the ground. She can’t hold back a shout this time, followed up by a gasp and a wheeze and other mostly failed attempts at breathing. _Why_ did that just have to happen? She was already hurting enough as it was, and now it feels like she’s drowning in the middle of the desert. Oh, the irony. The painful, painful irony.

It takes a few seconds for her lungs to remember how to function again. God, what did that little jerk even do to her? Was it a punch? A kick? She couldn’t even tell because they moved too damn fast. Also, someone that small definitely shouldn’t be able to hit her hard enough to take her to the ground. That defies, like, all the laws of physics.

“Alright, you asked for it,” Fiona coughs out as she slowly clambers to her feet. “Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance to-”

Wait a minute. What the hell. She turns all the way around in a circle, and then does it again to make sure she’s seeing things right. The stranger is gone, no sign of them anywhere. Like they never even existed.

Uh. Did she just... hallucinate all of that? Oh, crap. She’s already losing it. She checks her head again but it’s still woefully bare, so at least that part was real. Which isn’t all that comforting, actually, because that means she’s probably not getting her hat back.

So with that depressing turn of events, there’s only one thing left on her to-do list. Even though she has a strong urge to just lay back down and wait for exposure and/or her extensive injuries to kill her, Fiona decides it would probably be best to power through it. Besides, if Rhys really is close by, it would be irresponsible to just leave him to fend for himself. Sure, he can be resourceful when he needs to be, but... well... Look, she’s not _worried_ or anything like that, she’s just... concerned. For his wellbeing. That’s all.

Fiona tries her ECHO again, but this thing is totally broken. Not even a little bit of static is coming across the line. She rips the device out of her ear and pockets it; maybe she can find someone to fix it later.

Okay. Time to pick a direction and walk in it.

Which is a problem because she still doesn’t know where she is, or where Rhys could be. There’s no signs of civilization on the horizon in any direction, so she guesses she should start making her way towards the edge of the gorge. At the very least, she might be able to find a cave or something along the cliff face. Some kind of shelter to get her out of the elements for a while so maybe she can figure out what to do about her hand. And also how the hell she’s going to get home. Sasha’s probably worried sick by now.

Before she can get very far, though, something off to her right catches her eye. It looks like... well, she doesn’t know what it looks like. She didn’t notice it before because of the uneven terrain, but from this angle she can make out a large, dark mass of something in the middle of a shallow ditch.

Fiona gets this _feeling_ as she turns to go investigate. It’s a little twist in her gut, a horrible, paranoid thought that’s just plausible enough to make her want to pick up the pace. She has absolutely nothing to back it up, but dread pulls at her heart just the same.

As she slides down the hill she was standing on, the wind shifts to blast directly into her face. She tries to shield her eyes against the grit and sun, but there’s only so much an arm can do. Every step feels more impossible than the last but she _has_ to know what she saw, so she keeps pushing forward. The closer she gets to the ditch, the more it feels like a pit is opening up beneath her ribcage. A pit of... foreboding. And, yes, okay, maybe worry.

The visibility is so bad that she nearly walks past it, but something down there catches the sunlight in just the right way to get her to notice. When she turns her head, she doesn’t immediately recognize what she sees.

It’s just... a body. A _person_ , lying face down and half covered by sand. She creeps closer, to the edge of the ditch, her heart pounding in her ears.

Then she sees it, the thing that was reflecting the sunlight. A hand made entirely out of metal, just barely poking out of the dirt.

“No,” she whispers in disbelief. She scrambles down the slight decline so fast that her legs give out halfway and she lands with a hard _thud_. Her whole body _screams_ and she almost does too but she keeps going, dragging herself the rest of the way to Rhys’ side.

Back in the Vault, the thunder was so loud Fiona had thought her head was going to explode before she’d even get a chance to die from the fall. She’d covered her ears to block it out but it wasn’t anywhere close to enough. Then Rhys, he...

He’d tried to help her. He had put his hands over hers to help muffle the sound while leaving his own ears exposed. Why? Why would he do that? To protect her? For all the good that did. Now she’s here, nearly done for anyway and he’s...

_Unconscious? Comatose? Dead?_

“Rhys,” Fiona tries, shaking his shoulder. There’s blood on his hands and seeping from his ears, and the sand around his head is stained red. “Rhys, please wake up.”

Nothing, not even a peep. She starts pushing him over, trying to roll him onto his back. He _better_ be alive, dammit, because she fully intends to kick his ass later for pulling this kind of shit right after she almost lost her sister. What an inconsiderate prick.

Rhys is so _heavy_ that she can’t shove him over with one arm, so she reaches across to try and pull him by his left shoulder instead. With no small amount of effort (and pain!) Fiona finally manages to yank him into a face-up position. She had to stand up to get enough leverage to do it, but once he’s on his back she immediately drops to her knees again, fumbling for the pulse point in his neck. Come on, come _on_. Her hands are shaking so bad she can’t find the right spot, so she just gives up and leans down to press her ear against his chest.

 _There_. That’s a heartbeat, strong and steady. Fiona lets out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding, listening to it for a few more moments. He’s also breathing normally from what she can tell, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest making her almost giddy with relief. Although there’s no telling if he’s injured beyond the whole bleeding out of his ears thing- which is pretty concerning in itself- he’s still alive and in one piece for the time being.

He’s just... very unconscious, and after slapping him across the face a few times out of pure necessity, Fiona doesn’t think he’ll be waking up anytime soon. So whatever she decides to do next, she’s either going to have to leave him here or figure out a way to bring him with her.

Well, the former isn’t _really_ an option, now is it? After all, she went to all that trouble of finding him in the first place. She’s not going to lie, the idea of dragging Rhys out of a ditch and across this sandy craphole is not exactly... gratifying. If just laying down to die didn’t sound appealing enough before, it sure as hell does now.

But no, that would be stupid for a variety of reasons. Mostly because she’d never be able to gloat about saving his sorry ass for like, the gazillionth time. She’s not ready to forfeit her bragging rights just yet.

Fiona smacks him one more time, just to be _extra_ sure he’s not faking it. Sure, he didn’t wake up the first seven times she hit him, but maybe eight is her lucky number! She’s definitely not doing it out of spite or anything like that. Absolutely not.

Standing up with a satisfied huff, she puts her hands on her hips and considers the best way to drag Rhys out of here. She can’t hold onto both his feet with one hand, so by the arm it is. His right one, she decides after a moment of deliberation, so she won’t have to worry about dislocating his shoulder. The only problem would be if she pulls too hard and rips the whole arm off, which... it probably won’t do that, right? It’s pretty wedged on there. And hey, if it _does_ come off, that’s a huge portion of his weight that she won’t have to lug around anymore.

So she grabs him by his metal wrist, starting to tug him towards the slope. This is likely going to be one of the most physically torturous things she’s ever done, but at least she’ll have an excuse to yell at him later. Plus he’ll pretty much owe her his life, so. It’s a pretty good deal, if you ask her.

It’s all smooth sailing until she actually gets to the base of the hill. Pulling him along a relatively flat surface is a lot different than hauling him out of a ditch, but luckily the incline is pretty forgiving compared to the one she had to climb out of. It takes a lot of huffing and puffing, and she actually loses her grip on him once and has to start over from the bottom, but eventually she manages to crest the dune with her useless companion in tow.

“I hate you,” she tells his limp form, breathless and half bent over with her hands on her knees. “I know you can’t hear me but I’m saying it anyway. I hate you so much for- for pulling that crap in the Vault, and then scaring the shit out of me because I thought you were dead, and _now_ I have to drag you halfway across this... wherever we are.”

Fiona shakes her head, looking up at him. He looks so calm and far away, like he’s just sleeping, and if it weren’t for all the sand and blood she might even say he looks _peaceful_.

She heaves a sigh, clutching her ribs and nudging Rhys’ arm with her boot. “And I have to do all of this alone. I don’t even know if you’re going to...”

 _Wake up_ , is what she wants to say, but she lets herself trail off. There’s no use entertaining that train of thought; losing her head right now would only spell death for both of them. Besides, she’s not worried, remember? Only worried people come up with all those depressing _what if_ scenarios.

“Well, I can tell you one thing,” Fiona says as she takes his wrist again and starts pulling in the direction of the closest cliff face. “As soon as you’re awake and coherent enough to feel it, my entire foot is going _straight_ up your-”

Something screeches in the distance. It sounds almost like a rakk but... not quite. Fiona scans the sky but there’s nothing flying around that she can see. Okay. That’s not creepy at all.

Well, time to get a move on then. Violent threats can always be exchanged at a later date, preferably when they’re not in the middle of a valley completely exposed to the elements and whatever made that ominous shriek.

For the first ten minutes or so, yanking Rhys along is only moderately straining. It feels like _ass_ , but that’s just a given at this point. She was actually getting kind of used to it, but then somewhere around the fifteen minute mark the pain levels spike up from moderately hellish to absolutely and altogether _unbearable_. Even walking regularly would be difficult, but pulling a fully grown man behind her, traversing the small hills and valleys of the terrain, _and_ getting buffeted every which way by unpredictable winds means her progress slows to a snail’s pace. It’s also hot as hell, and pretty soon her entire body is drenched in sweat.

But she doesn’t stop moving, not even for a second. She forces her way forward, step by agonizing step, for what feels like forever. By the time she gets them close enough to the cliffs, she’s just barely able to keep herself upright, the pain so intense she’s nearly gagging on it. That was only half the battle though, because she still has to find them some kind of shelter.

“This... is officially... _the_ worst day ever,” Fiona pants over her shoulder at Rhys, who, impressively, hasn’t stirred once. You’d think all the jostling and manhandling would have roused him after a while but nope, he’s out cold. To be perfectly honest, she kind of envies him right now.

Fiona looks down the steep bluffs in both directions, trying to see if she can spot some kind of cave or overhang from here. Of course, that would be too easy, so she’s forced to make a gamble and choose which way to start walking. They came in at an angle so it’s relatively simple; she just continues moving in the way that would require the least amount of turning Rhys around. Because he is... _so_ heavy.

The ground is flatter here, which is a very much welcome reprieve. Her left hand is _throbbing_ now- well, throbbing more than everything else is, anyway. She takes a glance at it but it still looks the same as it did before, all ugly and black and very gross looking. It definitely needs to be cleaned but she doesn’t have any water on her and she doesn’t think Rhys does either. Which is... decidedly problematic. Even if she finds shelter, they could easily die of dehydration out here before an infection would even be able to take hold. So there’s another thing she’s going to have to take care of.

Ugh. Is she ever going to get a chance to just _sit down_?

Alright. Shelter first, then water. She continues dragging Rhys along the cliff face, keeping her eyes open for both. Maybe if she’s lucky, she’ll be able to kill two birds with one stone. There’s multiple small crevices that might have worked if it was just her, but she has her seemingly comatose friend to take care of, so she keeps moving. Just when she starts thinking she’s never going to find anything, she comes up on this deep, vertical crack in the rock. It’s wider at the bottom, a few feet across, and grows narrow up towards the top. Fiona wouldn’t have looked twice at it normally because it looks more than a little unsafe, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all that. Releasing Rhys for the moment, she cautiously steps closer, readying her Roshambo just in case.

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” a voice calls from behind her, making her jump. She spins around, finger on the trigger, and finds...

The stranger- no, the _hat thief_ , from before. Standing on top of a large, fallen rock that can’t be any less than twice Fiona’s height. And they didn’t even swap hats either, they’re still just wearing their own. Unbelievable. Why bother stealing _her_ hat if they’re not going to wear it?

At least this answers the question of whether she hallucinated that whole encounter or not. So there’s one mystery solved. But more importantly, why are they even here?

She points an accusing finger at the thief, keeping her gun trained on them. “Have you been following us?”

“Yep,” they say, shoving their hands in their pants pockets all nonchalant-like. “I was waiting for you to check out so I could loot your guys’ corpses.”

Fiona scoffs, lowering her gun and turning back towards the cliffs. This punk isn’t worth her time. “I don’t have any more hats for you to steal. Go away.”

There’s a bunch of scuffling, and she turns back around to see they’ve somehow slid all the way down from that rock without grievously injuring themselves. How did they even get up there in the first place?

“Not really in the market for any more hats at the moment. Thanks for that, by the way. But like I said, you don’t want to go in there.” They gesture towards the crack in the rock, and then cross their arms. “Or maybe you do. I dunno. You want to follow your buddy here into the afterlife, be my guest.”

Narrowing her eyes, Fiona takes a tentative half step away from the crack. There’s a chance they’re just screwing with her, but there’s a chance they’re telling the truth too. “What... is in there, exactly?”

The thief considers her for a moment, or it seems like they do. Just like before, the goggles make it almost impossible to tell. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

Well, since she still doesn’t know where _here_ is, Fiona finds it hard to answer that question, so she decides not to answer it at all. Even though it’s probably pretty damn obvious, she’s not really in the mood to blatantly advertise the fact that she’s hopelessly lost and out of her depth.

“Look. Unless you’re here to give my hat back, I _kindly_ ask that you go grave robbing somewhere else. I don’t plan on croaking anytime soon and this one’s not dead yet either.” Fiona jerks her head back towards Rhys, and then plants her hands firmly on her hips. “So beat it.”

“Your hand looks bad. Did you burn it?” They tilt their head to the side, not even acknowledging anything she just said. She actually did talk, right? She didn’t just imagine that? Stepping closer, the thief starts rooting around in some pouches on their belt. “I think I have something that might-”

Fiona jerks her Roshambo back up, which they don’t seem to mind because they keep walking towards her. The _click_ of the safety makes them stop in their tracks though, and she takes this opportunity to move a few steps backwards.

“What did I just say? Get the hell out of here, or you’ll be leaving with a bullet in your foot.”

“Okay, okay. You like your personal space, I get it.” Sounding exasperated, they put their hands up and back up a few feet. “You, uh, might want to turn around, though.”

“Why? So you can shoot me in the back? That’s not happening.”

Something _hisses_ behind her, sending a chill up her spine.

“No,” the thief says as Fiona risks a glance over her shoulder. “Because of _that_.”

That. Is one _big ass_ snake.

Spinning on her heel to face it, Fiona starts backing the _hell_ up. Reared up, it’s taller than she is, and still has a good length of its body on the ground behind it to boot. Three sets of eyes blink at her in unison and it hisses again, spitting something at her that she’s just barely able to avoid getting hit by. Whatever it is lands on the ground and starts sizzling, eating away at the sand.

Oh, so it’s huge, freaky looking, _and_ it spits acid. Just when she thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse! The initial shock wears off and she brings her Roshambo up to shoot at it because what the hell _else_ is she supposed to do, but something whizzes through the air and hits the snake right in the side of its head before she even gets a chance to pull the trigger.

“Over here, you six-eyed freak!” The thief is standing on top of another rock that should have been impossible to climb, reloading what looks like a crossbow. Okay, how do they keep doing that? It’s really starting to creep her out.

The snake whirls around to face the thief, spitting a wad of acid in their direction. They dodge and shoot again, hitting the snake in one of its eyes this time. While it’s distracted, Fiona makes sure she’s using the incendiary chamber on her gun before firing right into the back of its head.

She wasn’t sure if that was going to work, since she had no way of knowing how thick its scales were, but it seems to do the job well enough. The snake roars as the scent of burning flesh fills the air- which is always such a _lovely_ smell- and it whips back around to face her. The thief tries to goad it into looking back at them, shooting it two more times with their crossbow, but Fiona has its full attention now. She guesses getting shot and set on fire has a tendency to piss most things off. It gets ready to spit another stream of acid and she stumbles backwards, fumbling for her extra ammo.

Oh, _shit_.

Fiona tries to roll out of the way, she really does, but after all it’s been through today, her body has apparently decided that enough is enough. Most of it misses her, thankfully, but some of the acid lands on her right arm and immediately starts eating through the material of her jacket. She yanks it off before it can reach her skin, throwing the garment to the ground.

Half of the sleeve disintegrates before it eventually comes to a stop. Dammit. When the hell is she going to have the time to fix this? She’s not even sure if she can replicate the stitching on the cuff. That took _forever_ to do the first time. Gingerly, she picks the jacket up and ties it around her waist the best she can. Sure, she avoided getting her arm eroded off by acid, but at what cost? Too great of a cost, she firmly decides. Much too great.

Turning back around, she sees that the thief finished off the snake while was, er, busy. Mourning her clothes and all that. It’s on the ground, acid still dripping from its open mouth, and the thief is standing on its head trying to pull a dagger from the top of its skull. Fiona doesn’t even want to know how they managed to get that there.

“You, uh...” She starts walking back over, giving the dead snake a wide berth. “You fight these often? When you’re not stealing hats, I mean.”

They finally manage to yank the knife out, almost losing their balance from the force it took to dislodge it.

“Yeah, I guess. They mostly stay in their dens though, unless they’re out hunting.” With a shrug, they wipe their dagger clean on their pants leg and hop back down onto the ground. “This one’s cleared out now, at least. And hey! Now you have dinner.”

“How do you know there’s not more in there?”

“Solitary animals. And very territorial. Trust me, they want as little to do with each other as they do with us.”

 _Trust_. That’s a lot to ask for, especially considering the first interaction they had with each other involved theft and physical assault at her expense. She ponders that as she makes her way back over to where Rhys is. He’s still out like a light, and other than getting covered by a bunch of sand that was probably kicked up by the snake, he seems no worse for the wear.

“Your friend okay?” the thief asks, maintaining their distance this time. “Couldn’t help but notice he has some... bleeding.”

“Yeah, he just... hit his head.” Which probably isn’t a lie. Rhys seems to have an uncanny talent for sustaining head injuries.

“When he landed?”

“...What?”

“You know, when he landed.” Fiona turns around to face the thief and they shrug, gesturing vaguely. “When you two... fell out of the sky?”

They just... fell out of the sky? Just like that? She stares blankly at the thief, hoping they’ll elaborate without her having to ask.

“You _know_ ,” they say, crossing their arms almost defensively. “There was this huge flash of lightning except it was... purple. And the thunder and... the... Look, I’m not crazy. I know what I saw.”

Fiona just shakes her head, turning back to Rhys. At least that explains what they were doing there when she came crawling out of that ditch. If she saw the sky open up and spit out people instead of rain or whatever, she’d probably be inclined to investigate too. It sounds straight up impossible, but after actually _living_ it, it’s nice to have her experiences validated by an eyewitness.

Picking up Rhys’ arm again, she starts to drag him towards the hopefully now empty cave. The thief walks alongside her, keeping _just_ close enough that Fiona would describe it as hovering. “Listen, lady, it’s none of my business _how_ you got here, but it’s pretty obvious you have no idea what you’re doing. Or where you even are.”

Oooh, brownie points to the hat thief for having a pair of functioning eyeballs. “Enlighten me then, oh great wise one.”

“I don’t know if I should,” they huff. Yeah, that’s what she thought. Nobody can be helpful out of the goodness of their hearts anymore, oh nooo. “You’ve been pretty mean to me. Calling me an undersized twerp back there and all.”

Fiona stops at the mouth of the crack, shooting a glare at the thief. “You stole my hat. I think that warrants twerp status.”

“Maybe I was going to give it back.”

“ _Were_ you?”

They’re quiet for a second. Fiona glances back at them and they’re fidgeting with the ends of their scarf. “Well... no. But that’s not the point.”

Rolling her eyes, Fiona peers inside the cave. For as big as that snake was, this alcove is pretty small. It probably gets bigger towards the back, maybe even widening into a larger tunnel, but it’s really dark. She wants to be able to keep an eye on Rhys which means she needs light, so even after all that crap she just went through with the stupid snake, this is just another bust.

She sighs, dropping Rhys’ wrist and bringing a hand up to rub at the bridge of her nose. If one more thing could go wrong today, that would be _fantastic_. “What is it you want from me, exactly? An apology? If that’s the case, you might as well hit the road now because you’re not getting one.”

“I just think we can help each other,” they say with a shrug. Oh, this is going to be good, she can tell. “You need shelter, right? And water, and medicine. I happen to have,” they make a big, sweeping gesture, “ _all_ of those things. For the low, low price of nothing. Well, almost nothing.”

“I feel like I’d be better off stabbing myself in the back now rather than waiting for you to do it for me.”

“I’m being serious. I want to help. I feel... g... g-g...” They cough, shifting their weight from one foot to another. “I feel _guil_...”

“...Guilty?”

“Yeah. That. About the whole hat thing. And also punching you.”

Fiona crosses her arms. “I’m confused. Does this mean I get my hat back?”

“Oh, yeah, no. I’m going to hold onto that for now.”

A piece of her literally shrivels up and dies upon hearing that. What cruel deity did she piss off to deserve this kind of karmic bullshit? A world where her and her hat are separated is hardly a world worth living in at all.

As Fiona is choking back tears, the thief starts fidgeting impatiently. “So do we have a deal or not?”

“Just... one more thing,” she says, clearing her throat. Never let them see you cry or something like that. Especially not over her damn hat. “How do I know your _help_ ,” air quotes, “isn’t somehow conditional and as soon as I expend whatever usefulness I have to you, I won’t wind up waking up in a ditch somewhere with both my kidneys missing?”

They make a thoughtful noise. “You don't, I guess. You have no reason to trust me. But at this point, it’s just about your only option.”

Sadly, that’s probably true. She could always take her chances and keep wandering around at random, but even _if_ she were able to find some kind of suitable shelter, she still has no idea what she would do about water. Or how to go about fixing whatever’s wrong with Rhys.

Also, her hat is being held hostage, which is completely unacceptable. If there’s even the _smallest_ chance she might be able to nab it back at some point...

“Ugh, _fine_. Lead the way to your... dungeon of doom. Or whatever. Just stay in front of me.” Fiona moves to grab Rhys’ arm again but the thief zips around and starts tugging him by his ankles before she even has a chance to object.

She’s... somewhat grateful to finally have a break from lugging him around, she has to admit. At the same time, she _kinda_ wants to strangle them for presuming to lay their grimy little hat stealing paws on him without even asking first.

“You hurt him, or do anything weird, or even _breathe_ on him the wrong way, we’re going to have a problem. Understand?” She brings up the rear as the thief starts pulling Rhys towards the direction they all came from.

“Got it. I just thought I’d take care of it since it took you almost an hour and a half to make a twenty minute walk and you look like you’re about to keel over any second.”

“Yeah, well, we all know what assuming does,” she grumbles. With the thief yanking Rhys along, they’re already making much faster progress than Fiona had by herself. It’s kind of embarrassing someone so much smaller than her is able to pull him like that with relative ease, because when she was doing it, it kind of felt like she was dragging around a sack of lead.

They walk in silence, making their way back down the gorge. They might have been able to move even faster if it wasn’t for Fiona’s limp, but the thief doesn’t seem to mind slowing down enough to compensate.

At some point she starts to wonder; if they were following her all that time, why didn’t they offer to help sooner? That would have saved both of them a lot of time and effort. They said they were waiting for her to kick the bucket so they could take more of her stuff, but if that was the case, why bother warning her about the snake? And now offering to help them out in return for _almost nothing_? Whatever that means. She probably should have asked. Hopefully she didn’t accidentally barter off their souls or something.

What a mystery. She might have been more baffled by it, but nothing about this day has made any sense so far. Her entire morning was spent fighting a gigantic, teleporting Vault Monster for crying out loud, and then all the stuff with the Vault itself and... Whatever, point is, all this weird shit keeps happening to her and she’s waaay too exhausted to continue being surprised by it.

Before long, the thief suddenly veers off towards the right. There’s a narrow gap in the rock of the cliff face, just barely wide enough to squeeze through. It takes a team effort to get Rhys through the jagged entryway, but luckily the passage widens out farther down. Fiona watches his face as they hike through the chasm, searching hopefully for any sign that he’s still in there. He’s completely unresponsive though, not even twitching when she _accidentally_ knocks a pebble into the top of his head with her boot.

“What have we gotten ourselves into?” she asks him under her breath. It’s pretty stupid how she keeps talking to him when he can’t hear her, but... Yeah, she can’t even defend it. It’s just stupid. The thief probably thinks she’s lost her mind, but if they heard her, they don’t say anything about it.

The further they walk, the wider the passageway gets. They’re in the shade for the most part, but it’s still so damn hot she’s sweating from head to toe, which is only making the sand stick to her even more. She’s going to need a _very_ long shower after all of this is over. And also so much therapy.

Eventually, Fiona spots a break in the rock up ahead. They emerge from the canyon into another stretch of desert, and something... odd is raised out of the sand in the distance. It’s hard to make out from this far, but it looks like a ruined city of some sort. Tall, crumbling spires reach up towards the sky, their bases almost completely swallowed by the landscape.

The thief points at it, glancing back over their shoulder as they continue to drag Rhys along. “There. That’s where we’re going.”

Of course it is. Why was she hoping it could be a picturesque oasis or something like that? Or at least somewhere with indoor plumbing? She should have known better. The whole _dungeon of doom_ thing was mostly a joke, but now she’s starting to think it hit a little too close to home.

“That place... definitely looks haunted. Or cursed. Or maybe both,” she informs the thief, staring at the ruins for a few more seconds. “You’re not part of a cult, are you? Please tell me we’re not going to be sacrificed as part of some cabalistic ritual to appease the hat thief gods.”

“Not haunted, possibly cursed. And can you not call me that? It’s rude.”

“What, a hat thief? Do you not like labels based on your actions? Maybe you should have thought of that before you stole my hat.”

With a rather dramatic sigh, they stop walking and drop Rhys’ ankles, turning around to face her. “I _do_ have a name, you know.”

Silence stretches between them. They said that like they were going to belatedly introduce themselves, but now they’re just staring at each other wordlessly and it’s getting kind of weird. “Well, unless you tell me what it is, I’m just going to keep calling you a hat thief. Because, you know, that’s what you are.”

“...It’s Flick.”

Fiona can’t hold back a snort. What, seriously? “Flik? Like the ant? From that one movie?”

“Uh, no? I have no idea what an ant even is. Is that something you just made up? That sounds like something you just made up.” They bend over to grab Rhys’ feet again and start walking backwards, still facing Fiona.

“You... What? They’re bugs. You know what a bug is, right?”

They huff. “Yeah, I know what a _bug_ is. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“You don’t know what an ant is, so.”

They shoot her a dirty look. Or she assumes it’s a dirty look. With the way this conversation is going, it’s probably a dirty look. “And _you_ didn’t know what a viper was. So I guess we’re even.”

What the hell is a viper? Oh, they’re probably talking about that enormous snake monster thing. That’s barely a valid argument though; the thief- er, _Flick_ even said it themselves, she’s obviously not a local. Being unfamiliar with foreign wildlife is hardly the same as not knowing what an ant is.

The rest of the trek across the valley is quiet. As they get closer to their destination, Fiona realizes it’s much more expansive than she originally thought. The remains of ruined buildings start a mile or two out from the city itself, or what’s left of it anyway. Most of the structures are partially or completely buried by sand, making for a stark contrast between the towering frameworks of old skyscrapers and the gently sloping landscape around them.

Passing by all this rubble, she can’t help but wonder what happened here. She’s never seen any place like this before; it’s like the whole city was swallowed up by the desert. It’s... pretty strange. And more than a little creepy.

Weaving around all the rusted skeletons of the outlying buildings, they make their way into the heart of the ruins themselves. The aging structures soar above their heads, a good portion of the concrete they were built out of still clinging to the metal frames. Granted, there’s still visible signs of damage and decay, and Fiona feels like she’s tripping over bits of debris every five seconds, but at the very least these buildings can probably provide better cover than some cave would have been able to.

Flick leads the way with confidence, seemingly knowing every twist and turn of the place. There’s no sign of an ambush- or even any other people in general- but Fiona stays alert just in case. Best to expect the unexpected, although she’s not so sure how much more unexpected she can take.

Finally, they round a corner into a narrow alleyway between two buildings, and Flick nods to the one on the left.

“In here,” they say before letting go of Rhys to approach what looks like a solid wall. They push at a chunk of loose cement that’s twice as big as they are, shoving it aside to reveal a jagged hole in the concrete. Then, taking Rhys by the ankles again, they start dragging him inside. “Come on in.”

Oh, god. This is like the start of literally every horror movie ever. She’s going to walk in there and it’ll look normal but there’ll be blood stains on the walls or something, or the faint smell of formaldehyde in the air. And she’ll be cautious at first, but eventually she’ll let her guard down and take a bite of the complementary finger sandwiches and the next thing she knows she’ll be waking up in a bathtub covered in human body parts.

Eugh. Okay, that was a gruesome mental image. And also weirdly specific.

Flick pokes their head back out of the hole. “Are you just going to stand out there all day or what? The time of the summoning is almost upon us.”

Uh. What. They just stare at each other silently for a few seconds before Flick starts to fidget. “That... It was a joke. I was joking. Please stop reaching for your gun, okay? I’m sorry. Don’t shoot me.”

Fiona squints at them for a little while longer, just to make them nervous. But then she sighs, shaking her head and taking a few wary steps towards them. “You’re not funny.”

“So I’ve been told.” They duck back inside, and Fiona moves to follow, but still finds herself hesitating. She doesn’t have much of a choice though; her hat is in there. Oh, uh, and Rhys. She didn’t just completely forget about him for a second or anything like that, nope.

Taking a deep breath, she stoops down and wriggles through the gap. It’s relatively dim in here compared to outside so it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust, and she doesn’t move too far from the entrance in the meantime in case this turns out to be a trap after all. The room she’s in is rectangular, longer down than it is wide. It’s somewhat on the small side but not cramped, and it’s obvious that rubble has been cleared away to make room for its occupant’s belongings.

Flick is directly to her left, standing in front of a large, flat stone that they seem to be using as an improvised table. The surface has so much random crap on it that she can’t even see the rock itself, everything from extra clothes to assorted weapons to glass bottles with mystery liquids in them. The mess isn’t limited to the table though; it extends to the ground surrounding it and all the way down the wall as well.

“Welcome,” they say dramatically, still facing the table as they take their hat off and set it to the side, “to my humble abode.”

“It’s... nice?”

“It’s not, but it’s home. Don’t mind the mess, I don’t get a lot of visitors.” No kidding. They unwind their scarf and throw it down on the table haphazardly before unfastening their cloak and giving it the same treatment. Fiona spots Rhys in the opposite corner, sprawled on top of a blanket. He’s still in his own little world, just snoozing away. At least he isn’t snoring. That’s just about the only good thing that’s happened all day.

“Alright,” Flick says from behind her. She turns back around and finds herself... thoroughly flabbergasted. And at a total loss for words. “Let’s take a look at that hand.”

Fiona opens and closes her mouth a few times. “You... You’re... a kid?”

Without the scarf and the cape and the goggles, Flick looks a lot less like a creepy cowboy and a lot more like... well, a _kid_. They have a deep olive complexion and a faint smattering of freckles across their cheeks and nose. Their hair comes down a little past their shoulders, although most of it is tied back which gives them the appearance of looking a bit older. But their face is still soft, and it reminds her a little of how Sasha didn’t lose all her baby fat until she was in her twenties.

Dark eyes blink at her slowly, and their eyebrows draw together in a scoff. “Okay, judging by the tone in your voice, whatever modicum of respect you might have had for me just got swept away by the utter shock you’re experiencing right now. I’m not sure my ego will ever recover from this. So first of all, ouch.”

“It’s just- I wasn’t expecting you to be so...”

“Completely normal looking? Yeah, the goggles and stuff tend to throw people off a lot.”

Fiona shakes her head. This is so beyond weird she can hardly keep up with what’s happening. “I was going to say _young_ , but...” She takes a look around at their home again. “You live out here? By yourself?”

Their scoff turns into a flat out scowl and they cross their arms in front of them. “Yeah. I do. Now do you want me to fix your hand or not? I’m getting tired of asking.”

“I- Yeah. Sure, whatever,” she tells them, trying to shake off the rest of her surprise. Stranger things have happened in the last few hours alone, so she’s not sure why this revelation is affecting her so deeply.

“Great. I need you to take your... your thingies off. And go sit by your friend.” They indicate the bracers on her wrists before turning back around to rifle through the mess on the table. “How bad does it hurt?”

Making her way over to where Rhys is laying, Fiona begins to unbuckle the straps on her cuffs. “It doesn’t. It’s kind of throbbing, but mostly it’s just numb.”

“Oh. That’s not good.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so either.”

Fiona unties her jacket from her waist and tosses it and her bracers to the side before taking a seat by Rhys’ head. Now she can plainly see the extent of the damage. The entire back of her hand is burned, not just her fingers, although those certainly sustained the worst of it. It feathers all the way up her forearm, patches of red branching off like lightning.

Flick joins her after a minute or two, kneeling down before setting some bottles of who knows what and a small bowl of water on the floor. Fiona must have blatant want written all over her face because after a few moments, Flick reaches around, unhooks a canteen from their belt, and hands it to her wordlessly. She mumbles her thanks and unscrews the top, taking a looong drink from it as Flick gently examines her arm. Oh god, she never thought just plain water could taste so _good_. Hopefully this isn’t dosed with anything, but if it is, at least it’s absolutely _delicious_.

“What did this?” they ask, rotating her elbow around. They glance up at her and then do a double take. “It’s there, too, on your face. I didn’t notice before. Can I see?”

She hums an affirmative around a mouthful of this amazing water and Flick uses a hand to delicately move her hair out of the way. They make a face that can’t mean anything good and lean back, considering all the bottles around them. “I think the worst of it is on your hand, but your ear doesn’t look so hot either. You have burns going down your neck and I assume your chest and back too.”

Fiona stops drinking long enough to say, “Well, that explains why everything feels like shit.”

Scratching the back of their head, Flick silently regards her for a few moments before looking down at Rhys. And then back up at her. “Were you... struck by lightning, by any chance?”

There’s really no use denying it at this point. With a sigh, Fiona takes one last sip from the canteen before twisting the lid back on and setting it to the side. “To be perfectly honest with you, there was so much going on and it all happened so fast that I couldn’t really say for sure.”

She knows they claimed to see the whole thing, but she doesn’t want to sound completely off her rocker and admit that getting hit by lightning is how they wound up here. It doesn’t make sense to _her_ , so the chances that the kid would buy it are slim to none.

“I don’t think anything else would make marks like this,” they say thoughtfully, tapping a finger against their chin. They mull it over for a few more seconds and then shrug, pulling the bowl of water closer. “At any rate, they need to be cleaned. You think it hurts now, it’ll be a lot worse if it winds up getting infected.”

Normally, she’d be more skeptical about letting a perfect stranger patch her up- especially one who stole from her- but the kid is right. If she doesn’t take care of this now, she won’t be in any shape to get her and Rhys back home. So she allows Flick to soak a rag in the water and take it to the back of her hand. It stings at first, so bad she has to bite back expletives as they work their way up her wrist and forearm. They keep a firm grip on her though, not letting her wriggle away.

“Have you- _shit_ -” She tries to snatch her hand back as they pass over a particularly sensitive spot but the kid’s not having it. They jerk her wrist back into position, and Fiona has to admit she admires their dedication. She just wishes it didn’t have to hurt so goddamn much. “Have you done this before?”

“Yeah,” they say quietly, and then, louder, “Yeah, I used to do it a lot, actually. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s pretty dangerous out here. People get hurt all the time.”

“So there _are_ others?” Fiona waves a hand at them. The one that doesn’t feel like it’s about to fall off. “More of... you?”

The kid snorts, shaking their head. “No, there’s only one of me. Like I said, I live out here alone.”

“So where is everybody else?”

With a huff, Flick sits back on their heels and drops the rag in the bowl. They watch her for a moment with a blank look, drumming their fingers on their thigh. Honestly, they might as well be wearing their whole spooky cowboy getup with how well Fiona can read their expression right now.

“You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” they remark. “It’s not really helping the whole... lost puppy thing you have going on.”

Fiona scoffs. “I thought we already established that I’m, in your words, ‘not from around here’. I’m just trying to figure out where _here_ is, okay? And how I’m going to get us back home.”

“Aaand let me guess. Going back the way you came isn't an option?”

She shakes her head once. Even if it _were_ possible, she’d rather do literally anything else. If that meant she had to start a strict weight training regimen just so she could carry Rhys piggyback on a marathon across the whole planet, she’d do it. Anything is better than the thirty seconds of absolute hell she went through in that Vault.

Flick purses their lips and then nods. “Fair enough. But all I meant was that you’re asking a lot of questions about _me_ , but I don’t know anything about either of _you_. Other than you fell out of the sky. Which is pretty cool I guess, but you’re in my house, drinking my water, draining my precious resources-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

“-and I don’t even know your names.”

Oh. Whoops. Yeah, that’s pretty rude of her actually.

Wait, what is she saying. This little asshole stole her hat. Who cares if she’s being rude? Still, they have a point about everything else, and she supposes there’s not much harm in being on a first name basis rather than calling each other whatever insult seems appropriate at the time.

“...It’s Fiona. And that,” she points at the man beside her, “is Rhys.”

“Oh. Huh. Weird names.”

“Says the kid named after a bug.”

Flick makes a pretty hilarious face at that, grabbing the cloth from the bowl and reaching for her arm again. “Whatever, Ramona. Let’s finish cleaning this up.”

“It’s Fiona.”

“Gesundheit.”

Fiona tolerates the rest of the rinsing process, which is long and drawn out but Flick seems to be working as quickly as they can. Once they’re satisfied, they pick through some of the bottles they brought over and empty the contents onto the rag before brushing it over her wounds. Fiona tries to tough it out, but whatever they put on that cloth burns like hell. Flick says something along the lines of, “That’s how you know it’s working!” to reassure her, but she still can't help but think how awesome it would be if it could work a little _less_.

That isn’t even the end of it either. After setting the rag and bottles aside, Flick pulls a small drawstring pouch from their belt. Opening it up, they turn it upside down and dump a few strange looking leaves into their hand. They hold them out expectantly and after a moment of hesitation, Fiona cautiously takes them.

“Chew on those,” they tell her, standing up and moving back over to the table. “I have to make sure I have enough.”

“What... are these?”

“Fulgora’s bite. That’s what’s gonna stop you from getting a nasty infection.” Digging through the clutter, they produce another drawstring bag that’s much bigger than the first. “Oh and, uh, don’t swallow them. You’d probably be fine if you did but I’m... not actually one hundred percent sure. So save us both a lot of trouble and just... don’t.”

Fiona examines the spiky little leaves in her hand. They’re dry and waxy to the touch, and almost completely black in color with thin blue stripes on both sides. And Flick wants her to just... put them in her mouth. Okay. Definitely not the weirdest thing she’s ever done.

She tosses them back bottoms-up style and begins to chew, immediately scrunching up her nose in distaste. Eugh, this tastes _vile_. They’re so bitter she wants to spit them right back out, but the kid gives her this look like if she does, she’ll have a lot to answer for. So she keeps chewing, squinting through the nauseating taste, and eventually Flick gestures for her to spit out the resulting paste onto a square of cloth.

They start to hand her another palmful and she shakes her head vigorously. “Nope, no way. Not doing that again.”

Sitting back, they raise a questioning eyebrow. “I mean, I’ll do it, I just didn’t want to gross you out by slathering you in medicine that has my spit in it.”

“I don’t even care,” Fiona rasps out, grasping for the canteen she set aside earlier and taking a few gulps to rinse the taste out of her mouth. “Slather me up, Scotty. Just never make me do that again.”

Flick shrugs and pops the leaves into their own mouth, grinding them down much faster and with less visible disgust than Fiona did. After a few more handfuls they seem satisfied with the amount, and then they begin smearing the stuff over every inch of her burned skin. It stings a little at first but then settles into a vague cooling sensation, soothing her pain into something much more manageable. For the first time today, she doesn’t feel like she’s trying to break down Death’s door. Now it’s more like she’s just loitering in the front yard, which still sounds bad but it’s a considerable step down from before, so. She can’t complain.

“Aaand... done,” Flick says as they use the last of the miracle paste. “Oh, wait, let me wrap your hand up.”

They start moving stuff from the floor back over to the table, clearing the ground around Fiona. When they come back with a thick roll of cloth, she holds her arm out so they can wind the bandage around her fingers carefully.

“There,” they announce once they’re finished. “Now you’re done.”

“Thanks.” Fiona flexes her wrist, examining their handiwork. “You didn’t have to do any of this. So, you know, thanks. For doing it anyway.”

“Well, a deal’s a deal,” they reply, turning to Rhys. “Mind if I take a look at your friend?”

Oh, right. She almost forgot about that whole thing. They still haven’t told her what they want though. Ominous. “Yeah, go ahead. But remember what I said before about breathing on him funny or anything like that? That still applies.”

“Yeah, I was pretty sure it would.”

“I mean it. You hurt him and you _will_ regret it.”

“Relax, would you?” They scoff in her direction as they gently turn Rhys’ head to the side. “Fleece here is gonna be just fine.”

Now they’re just doing that on purpose. “Rhys. His name is Rhys.”

“That’s what I said.”

Rolling her eyes, Fiona crosses her arms over her chest. “Whatever. Just... please fix him. If you can.”

They hum thoughtfully as they examine Rhys’ ears, poking at his temple port thing curiously. “You’re lucky I have a heart of gold. Not many people would cooperate with such a rude and demanding person.”

“Listen, kid, I’ve had a really long day,” Fiona sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I woke up this morning thinking I’d only be having _one_ life threatening adventure. Then we got to the Vault and opened that stupid box and I just- I can’t-” She takes a deep breath to steady herself. God, she really _is_ losing it. “He’s all I have right now. And he’s important to m- He’s just important, alright? So lay off.”

Flick is silent for a while, and Fiona looks over to find them just staring at her. Their face is completely blank again, and it’s kind of pissing her off the way they can just school their expression into something so unreadable that she can’t even begin to piece together what they’re thinking.

“ _What_?” she snaps, scowling.

They shake their head, turning their attention back to Rhys. “Nothing. I’m sorry this happened to you, for what it’s worth. I’ll try to help your friend.”

Great. Now she feels like an asshole. She tries not to sulk as Flick checks Rhys over for any other injuries, and they eventually discover his right shoulder is just as badly burned as the back of Fiona’s hand is. It’s all black and blistered where metal connects to flesh, so Flick cleans the area and chews up some more of those repulsive leaves to make sure he doesn’t get an infection either.

Other than that and the blood caked around his ears that they carefully wipe away, there’s nothing else visibly wrong with him. Flick seems stumped, and after pondering it over for a while, they turn back to Fiona. “You said he hit his head?”

Crap. “Uh. Yeah. I mean, he probably did. I didn’t exactly _see_ it happen, but you don’t know him like I do. He’s hit his head so many times I’m genuinely surprised he’s not dead yet. Or a vegetable.”

Flick checks his pulse and breathing one last time before sighing heavily. “I have something that could probably wake him up, but... I want to wait and see if he wakes up on his own. It sounds like he’s been through just as much as you have, so he probably needs the rest anyway.”

He’s been catching Z’s this whole damn time, but whatever. She hopes he’s having good dreams because whenever he _does_ wake up, she’s going to give him a nice, long earful detailing exactly how much she owns his ass now. He’ll be repaying her for this for the next, like, fifty lifetimes.

After putting the rest of their supplies away- it’s actually more like shoving them all back onto that table at random- Flick stoops down to dig through what looks like a pile of clothes that’s right beside it. They pull out a blanket, larger than the one Rhys is laying on, and spread it over the ground for Fiona to sit on so she’s not just sitting on the bare albeit still quite sandy floor. Then they plop down right in front of her, crossing their legs and setting their elbows on their knees before plunking their chin into their hands.

“So!” they begin. “You’re not from here.”

Fiona regards them suspiciously. “Yeah. We’ve established that. I think this is the third time now. And you keep not telling me where _here_ even is.”

“Well,” they start like they’re about to be as vague as possible, “these ruins are called Ember. That’s what I call them, anyway. And where you fell out of the sky is just a gorge. I don’t think it has a name.”

Why are they avoiding the question? “I’ve never heard of this place, or even seen anything like it.”

Flick is quiet for a second as they do that annoying thing where they just look at her blankly again. “Let me ask something different. If you’re not from here, where _are_ you from?”

“Hollow Point,” she replies automatically. Their face doesn’t change. “It’s... in a cave? East of Old Haven?”

“...What _planet_ are you from?”

Oh. Oh, no. “Pandora. This... We _are_ still on Pandora, right?”

They blink at her slowly, and then they shake their head. “No. No, we’re not.”

Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. “What are you- I don't- That’s not- Shit. You’re screwing with me, aren’t you? You have to be. There’s no way this isn't... There's no way that damn _Vault_ sent us...”

She trails off, hands clenching and unclenching in her lap. If this isn’t Pandora... No. It has to be. It _has_ to be. It’s sandy, it’s hot, the people are weird and steal her stuff. It’s just like home, so there’s no _goddamn_ way...

“I’ll prove it to you,” Fiona says suddenly, cold desperation forcing her back up to her feet. Flick watches her silently, clearly doubtful, but she keeps moving towards the exit and motions for them to follow. “We’re still on Pandora. You’ll see. I’ll show you.”

Once they’re outside, Fiona raises a hand to shield her eyes against the glare of the sun. She searches the sky but the surrounding buildings are blocking her view, dammit. She starts limping back up the alley, emerging into a more open area and looking again. Somewhere she’s going to see it, because she _knows_ she saw it on the way here. Didn’t she? Of course she did. Elpis will be hanging in the sky like it always is, like it always has been and always _will be_. Because they’re still on Pandora. They have to be.

She just. Has to find it.

“Hey!” Flick calls from behind her, but she ignores them. Where the hell is it? It’s a humongous moon that always looks close enough to reach out and touch. How is she missing it?

“ _Hey_ ,” Flick says, closer this time. They gently take her wrist, forcing her to stop and turn around. God, they’re looking at her like they _pity_ her. “I don’t know what you’re looking for, but you’re not going to find it. This isn’t Pandora.”

No. Dammit. Shit. They’re wrong. They’re _wrong_. She’s going to turn around and see Elpis and everything will be just _fine_.

But she can't do that, dammit, because Flick refuses to release her, tightening their hold on her to the point that it's almost painful even as she tries to wriggle away. "Listen to me-"

“ _No_ ,” Fiona insists, twisting her arm around in their grip. Why can’t they just let her go? This joke isn’t funny anymore. It never was. “I have to find it and show you. All these buildings, they’re in the way-”

“ _Listen_ to me!” They take both her hands now and squeeze _hard_ , the pain briefly stunning Fiona into silence. “You’re not on Pandora anymore, okay? Whatever brought you here... I think it took you farther than you thought.”

The crushing weight of it all- of opening the Vault and worrying about Rhys and finally realizing something she thinks she knew all along- it almost breaks her. She sinks to her knees in the sand because of it, gasping and choking on the bile rising in her throat. This can’t be happening, she’s thinking, but it is. It _is_ and no matter how many times she tries to wake herself up from this nightmare, she still keeps opening her eyes to sand that’s the wrong color and a kid she never should have met.

Flick kneels down in front of her, keeping whatever thoughts they might have to themselves. They patiently wait for her to get it all out, and when she’s finally done and wiping her mouth with her arm, they stand and offer a hand to help her up.

“If this isn’t Pandora,” she says shakily as they pull her to her feet, “then where are we? And don’t- don’t skirt around the question this time. Just tell me.” Taking a breath and holding it, she tries to dust some of the sand off her hands. “I can take it.”

Flick tilts their head to the side, giving her that pitying look again. It’s so out of place she wants to laugh, but at the moment she feels like she’s closer to tears. “Well, I guess it’s a little late but... Welcome to Nona. I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of it?”

Nona? _Nona_. Nope, not ringing any bells.

But she’s starting to get the feeling that she vastly underestimated just how bad this day is going to get. She can’t even tell herself “Tomorrow will be better!” because she’s still going to be _here_ tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after _that_.

And with that incredibly dismal thought, Fiona clenches her fists and kicks at the sand and screams with everything she has what she’s been thinking ever since she landed on this insufferable hunk of rock:

“ _Fuck_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give Fiona her hat back 2k17  
> Apparently that and Rhys being unconscious for the entire first chapter is just going to be a running gag in my works. Sorry for the lack of originality folks, I'll do better.  
> Anyway, I've been playing around with this idea for a while and I've seen a lot of other works about what happened after the Vault, and I wanted to do my own take on it! If you hate gratuitous OCs then this probably isn't for you. But Flick is a lot of fun, I promise. Also as a side note, I know Nona is from Roman mythology instead of Greek like most of the other stuff in Borderlands. That's not an accident!  
> Feel free to yell at me in the comments for any typos or grammatical errors because I know they're there but I've been staring at this so long I can recite the whole thing backwards in my sleep. You can yell at me if you just liked it too, or if you absolutely despised it but still somehow made it through the whole thing to read this. Whatever. Free speech is an amazing thing.


	3. Crossing the Wires

Rhys jerks awake in a cold sweat.

The first thing he notices is, obviously, he’s not dead. He sucks in a breath out of habit and _wow_ that is spectacularly painful, but pain means brain function and brain function means he’s alive. Which is surprising, all things considered, so he catalogues that as a tentative victory for now.

Opening his eyes, Rhys finds himself looking at a ceiling. Nothing special about it, just a normal ol’ ceiling, and more notably, _not_ the inside of the Vault like he'd been expecting. Well, that’s bizarre, but it must be called the Vault of the _Traveler_ for a reason. Maybe opening that box triggered some sort of teleportation mechanism similar to the one the Vault Monster had?

He doesn’t have a lot of time to think on that though because as he tries to look around, it very quickly comes to his attention that there’s something unmistakably _wrong_ with his implant. It seems to be having a slight problem processing visual input, and by slight he means it’s just... not doing it. At all.

No, that’s fine. He actually _likes_ being half blind. Depth perception? _Pfft_ , who needs it? He starts to sit up on his elbow with the intention of checking his subsystems to see what the deal is, but when he does, he notices something moving in his peripheral. A small, hatted figure is shuffling around in the corner of this... improvised shelter? Calling it a home would be generous, but somebody clearly lives here if the amount of trash everywhere is anything to go by. Hopefully, this is that someone and not a thief or something that didn’t notice him when they walked in. That would be awkward.

Rhys decides to take his chances and clear his throat to get their attention, which in retrospect, might not have been the wisest move. They jump an impressive distance in the air and spin around to face him, whipping a dagger out of... he’s not even _sure_ where.

“Ohgodpleasedon’tkillme,” Rhys blurts in a rush, scrambling to sit the rest of the way up. It takes a few tries because apparently, his cybernetic arm is just as busted as his eye is, which would have been _really_ nice to know about five seconds ago. Still, he does his best to scoot awaaay from the psychopath. Their face is mostly concealed by a pair of darkly lensed goggles and a scarf, which ups the creep factor of their whole getup to literal nightmare fuel.

Neither one of them say anything for a few tense seconds until the... whoever this is visibly relaxes with a sigh.

“Don’t _do_ that.” They incline their head slightly, tossing the dagger onto a disturbingly large pile of more daggers. “You scared me.”

“ _I_ scared _you_?” Rhys chokes out incredulously, inching further away until his back hits the wall behind him. “You’re the one creeping around dressed like you just came from the serial killer convention. The knife is a nice touch, by the way. Really brings the whole thing together.”

They snort at him- like it’s _funny_ that he just lost ten years off his life- while tugging down their scarf and sliding a backpack off their shoulders. After unclasping their cape and throwing it down, they kick everything to the side and pull their goggles down around their neck.

“Allow me to welcome you back to the realm of the living,” they say with a flourish, taking off their hat and mocking a bow. “I’m sure it’s just as horrific as you remember. I’m Flick. Nice to finally make your acquaintance. Grease, right?”

“It’s _Rhys_ ,” he corrects automatically, eyeing them warily. They don’t exactly look like the type to go around committing heinous acts of homicide, but that probably has a lot to do with the fact that they’re _much_ younger than he was expecting. Rhys doesn’t typically keep twelve year olds on his contact list, and last he checked he doesn’t have any illegitimate children running about, so why _this_ kid seems to be familiar with him is a bit of a mystery.

“Do we... know each other?” he asks hesitantly.

“Well, no. Not exactly.” Flick pauses for a second before nodding towards something off to the side. “We just have a mutual friend.”

A mutual friend? Rhys angles his head around, wincing a little at how stiff the movement is. At first, all he sees is more piles of junk. There’s not even any rhyme or reason to the chaos, just stuff stacked on top of other stuff, and it’s making him itchy just by looking at it. But past all that, nestled in the shadowy corner on the opposite side of the room, is a vaguely person-shaped lump covered in a quilt. The only thing poking out from under it is a head; a head that, after squinting at it for a few moments, he realizes is very familiar.

 _Fiona_. She hadn’t even crossed his mind yet, which kiiinda makes him feel like an asshole. But it’s been one strange thing after another ever since he opened his eyes, so he tries to give himself a little credit. She’s facing away from him so he can’t spot the telltale red streak in her hair, but he’s spent enough time staring at the back of Fiona’s head to recognize it, even from a distance.

That... sounds a little creepy, he’ll admit, but it’s not. She just usually walks in front of him, okay? He doesn’t constantly find himself looking at her for no reason, because that would be weird and he’s not weird. Well, okay, he’s a little weird, but not like _that_.

Rhys starts to push himself to his feet, using the wall as leverage.

“Whoa there, dynamo.” The kid is by his side in an instant, trying to force him back down by his shoulders. “Relax, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Rhys scoffs, trying- and mostly failing- to shove them off. Are kids supposed to be this strong? “Have you ever heard of personal space? Just- Get _off_ me, I need to make sure she’s okay-”

“Your friend is _fine_ ,” they insist, undeterred. “A little crispy on the edges, but she’ll be alright. Besides, this is the first time she’s slept in days. Let her be or I’m taking the knife out again.”

With a displeased sigh, Rhys plops back down on the floor. He’s really in no position to argue since apparently, he's too weak to resist getting pushed around by a goddamn _kid_. He watches Fiona’s sleeping form for a few moments, and once he’s satisfied that she actually _is_ still breathing, he turns back to Flick. “Not to be rude or anything, but would you mind explaining just what in the hell is going on here?”

They back up once they’re convinced he’s going to stay put, crossing the room to lean against the opposite wall. “You want the short answer or the long one?”

“Uh. Both? Both would be good.”

They watch him passively for a moment, expression unreadable.

“I found you and Miss Strongarm over there about two days ago,” they eventually begin, folding their arms in front of them. “You were both in pretty rough shape- being freshly spat out of a thunderstorm and all- so I brought you back here. Because I’m a big-hearted, lovable rogue with a soft spot for poorly dressed outsiders who are way out of their depth.” They pause before jerking their thumb towards Fiona. “And also because that one promised me a favor in exchange for my help.”

Poorly dressed? Rhys _really_ doesn’t think they have any room to judge. But wait, that totally isn’t the issue here. “You _saw_ the storm? You were just- What, by sheer coincidence, you were there when it happened? That sounds... very convenient. Do you honestly expect me to believe that?”

Flick shrugs, unconcerned. “It’s what happened, whether you believe it or not. Call it fate or whatever. We were all just in the right place at the right time.”

Wow. That doesn’t sound suspicious at all. It occurs to Rhys that they might be spinning stories, trying to extort something from him, but to what end? Even if that were the case, _some_ of what they’re saying has to be true. How else would they have known about the storm unless they were there?

“Okay,” he concedes after a minute, rubbing at his eyes. “Let’s say you’re telling the truth.”

“Which I am.”

“Sure. But you weren’t at the Vault before.”

They blink at him slowly. “What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ ,” he sighs, gesturing vaguely, “before we opened it, you weren’t there. Someone like you would have stuck out like a sore thumb, but I distinctly remember _not_ seeing you. So either you showed up afterwards and kidnapped us- which, I guess, is entirely possible, it’s happened before and you sort of seem like the... type to...” Rhys trails off as they fix him with a glare. “Oookay, maybe not! Just... thinking out loud here.”

“Can you do a little less of that and get to the point?”

Talk about impatient. “Right. If you didn’t, uh, abduct us, then I’d have to guess that the Vault- that _storm_ \- sent us somewhere. I mean, it’s called the Vault of the _Traveler_ , right? Obviously that was- well, that was what the Vault Monster was called, because it could... yeah. But still. The name could have been a... double meaning. Or something.”

Flick is just staring at him, looking more than a little distressed. “The _point_ , Crease.”

“ _Rhys_. It’s Rhy-” He rubs his forehead, exasperated. “Can you just... tell me where we are right now? Exactly?”

“Oh. That’s... complicated.” Yeah, he thought so. Flick suddenly seems uncomfortable, purposefully looking anywhere except at him. “Maybe I should let your friend explain that one when she wakes up.”

There’s only one reason why anyone would answer that question with _it’s complicated_. “We aren’t even on Pandora, are we?”

Flick looks taken aback, wide-eyed and speechless like it wasn’t painfully obvious by the way they refused to give him a straight answer. But then they shake their head, shifting their weight from one foot to the other and recrossing their arms. “No, we aren’t. I’m surprised you guessed as much. The planet we’re on right now is called Nona.”

Nona? That almost definitely sounds made up. He’s never even _heard_ of a place called Nona before, let alone an entire planet. “I’m... not familiar with it.”

“That one wasn’t either.” They glance over at Fiona with a small sigh. “She didn’t want to believe it at first. Kept going outside looking for some moon called Elpis? She wouldn’t eat or sleep either, just paced around like it was her life mission to wear trails in my floor. I had to put something in her water to knock her out, otherwise she’d still be doing it.”

Despite the heaviness of the situation, Rhys somehow finds it within himself to snort in amusement. “Wait a minute, you _roofied_ her? Seriously?”

“It’s nothing like that,” Flick says quickly. “I didn’t use anything dangerous. I was just trying to help.”

Rhys raises an eyebrow. “By drugging her? That’s… kind of excessive.”

They scoff. “Well, what was I _supposed_ to do?”

“I just- I mean, I don’t know? But I feel like there were some steps you could have taken before jumping straight to spiking her drink. That’s all.”

“What, like talk to her about her problems with coming to grips with reality? Yeah, right. _You_ can be the one to give her an existential crisis if you want, but I’m not touching that with a ten foot pole. Your girlfriend, your problem.”

Oh. Ohhh, that’s awkward. “I- uh. What gave you... I mean- That is to say... She’s not- um. We aren’t really-”

Flick puts him out of his misery by waving a hand. “Don’t care. Still your problem.”

Okay, well. That’s fair. Although he’s _very_ interested in knowing how exactly they came to that specific conclusion. It’s kind of a weird thing to assume, unless... _Fiona_ didn’t say anything, did she? No... No way. She couldn’t have. She _wouldn’t_ have.

...Would she?

Rhys shakes his head at himself. Now is really not the time to be agonizing over what Fiona may or may not have said. He could go so far as ask her about it later, but frankly, that sounds like a terrible idea. The painfully awkward conversation they had outside the Vault is still fresh in his memory, and he’s not exactly jumping at the chance to revisit the topic any time soon. She could not have been more clearly uninterested so it’d probably be best to forget about it anyway.

His daily dose of humiliation aside, the fact that Flick is telling him he’s on some planet he’s never heard of before is... concerning, to say the least. There’s a remote possibility that the Vault sent them way past any place he’s familiar with, which raises the disturbing question of just how far away from home _are_ they? And how are they going to get back?

He understands why Fiona didn’t want to believe it. He doesn’t particularly want to either.

Sighing, Rhys lets his head rest back against the wall. Flick has been watching him with that blank stare this entire time and it’s kinda starting to creep him out. “Can you stop... psychoanalyzing me? Or whatever it is you’re doing right now? It’s making me feel violated.”

“I’m not psychoanalyzing. I’m... gauging your mental state.” They scrunch up their nose a little bit. “There’s a difference.”

 “What are you- What? No there isn’t. You literally just said the same thing but with more words.”

Crossing their arms in front of them, they tilt their head to the side. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Could you speak up?”

Oh, bullshit. They’re standing _right there_. But Rhys clears his throat and starts repeating himself a little louder anyway. “I said you just-”

“What?”

“You just said-”

“Can’t hear you.”

Seriously. “You’re not even letting me-”

“Yeah, I can’t make out a darn thing,” they sigh dramatically. “What a shame.”

Rhys drops his head into his hands, massaging his temples. He knows he’s walking into it at this point but is it too much to expect some common decency? “Are you always this annoying?”

Flick goes quiet for long enough that Rhys looks back up again, and they’re tapping their chin with one finger like they’re deep in thought.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say,” they finally chide him, like _he’s_ the one that’s supposed to feel bad. “But it depends on who you ask.”

It’s not like there’s anyone else around to gather opinions from on the matter, but Rhys has a hunch that the general consensus would turn out in his favor. Before he can tell them as much, however, something starts moving around in the corner of his eye. It catches Flick’s attention too, and they both look over to see Fiona beginning to stir, struggling to free herself from under her blanket.

Which comes as, well, a huge relief, if he’s telling the truth. Partially because he hadn’t been completely sold that whatever Flick had drugged her with was as harmless as they’d led him to believe, but mostly because the more time he spends alone with this kid, the more he feels like he’s losing what few marbles he may have left.

“Ohhh, no you don’t.” Flick marches over to where Fiona’s still trying to tug her blanket out from under her. “ _Why_ are you waking up? That stuff should have kept you out way longer than that. Hey, Wynona. What’s wrong with you? Go back to sleep.”

Really? Her too? How hard is it to get their names right? Fiona finally throws back the quilt on top of her, _thwacking_ Flick’s boots with it.

“Who the hell... are you talking to?” she grumbles through a yawn. Rolling over onto her back, she just stares at the ceiling for a few seconds, blinking absently. Then her gaze slides to where Flick is standing over her with their hands on their hips, and her face contorts into the deepest scowl Rhys has ever seen her make. “Did you _drug_ me?”

Flick kicks the blanket off their foot, taking a casual half step back. “Don’t sound so surprised. You were freaking me out and you needed the rest anyway. You, uh, still want to go on a witch hunt for your stupid moon? Because if that wasn’t just from sleep deprivation, then there’s really not much more I can-”

“You little _shit_!” Fiona scrambles clumsily to her feet, huffing and puffing like she’s about ready to take the kid’s head off until she notices Rhys. She jumps a little, using the wall to steady herself so she doesn’t wind up falling back over. Evidently, she wasn’t expecting him to be sitting up and watching this whole exchange in vague amusement. She opens and closes her mouth a few times before eventually just saying, “You’re awake.”

Rhys waves half-heartedly. “Hi.”

“...Hi,” she breathes, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Rhys can get a better look at her now that she’s standing in the light and, uh, wow. She looks... terrible. Her jacket and hat are missing, her left hand is bandaged all the way up to the middle of her forearm, and just about every inch of her skin he can see is cut or bruised somehow. Shit, does he look like that too? He sure hopes not.

Flick takes this opportunity to try and slink away, but Fiona grabs them by the back of their shirt collar, holding them in place.

“And where do you think _you’re_ going?” she demands, easily shifting back into her normal, bossy personality. With all the weird shit that’s happening right now, at least _that_ hasn’t changed.

“Well!” Flick wriggles in Fiona’s grasp, but she doesn’t budge. “You two clearly have a _lot_ to catch up on and I have, uh, things to do. Outside. Away from here.”

“Oh, right, of course.” Fiona nods in mock understanding. “You must be _so_ busy with, you know, stealing hats and drugging people _without their consent_.”

Wait a minute, they stole her hat? Rhys never got Fiona’s weird protectiveness over that thing, but the fact that the kid took it from her and somehow still weaseled their way onto her good side is... kind of impressive. Short-lived though, if present events are anything to go by.

Flick manages to break Fiona’s hold, darting across the room before she has a chance to lunge for them again. “Hey, I only did that because you didn’t exactly give me any other options, alright? And besides, I said I’d give your dumb hat back _eventually_. A favor for the hat, remember?”

“No?” Fiona starts to circle towards them, and they mirror her movements. “When the hell did I agree to that?”

They think for a moment. “Shortly after I drugged you, but before you passed out and started drooling on my floor. Obviously.”

Fiona scoffs. “That’s dirty. You can’t do that. I was under the influence of... whatever you dosed me with. So it doesn’t count.”

“Yeah, well. No takesies backsies. A deal’s a deal.” Flick’s back hits the wall and Fiona closes in, towering over them, which is a little unexpected. Fiona herself is already on the short side, so this kid must be way smaller than he realized.

"Is this really necessary?" they complain, shooting a pointed look in Rhys' direction. "No comments from the peanut gallery?"

There’s... probably not much he could do to intervene, even if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t. Just to make that absolutely clear.

“No offense, but I’m with her on this one,” he says, shrugging with one shoulder. “It all seems a little underhanded if you ask me.”

“That’s right,” Fiona chimes in as she flicks the kid on the forehead, which causes them to make a funny face. “Stop trying to take advantage of him. Only _I’m_ allowed to do that.”

Rhys nods sagely in agreement. “It’s true.”

Flick pouts and starts to say something before thinking better of it and snapping their mouth shut. They look away after a moment, muttering so quietly that Rhys almost can’t make it out, “I was just trying to help.”

Sighing, Fiona leans back a little. “You could have done that without drugging me.”

“ _No_ , I couldn’t. You weren’t listening to me and if I’d just left you alone you would have-” Fiona gives them a look and they huff, crossing their arms defensively.“Fine, whatever. I’m s-s... sor... I’m _sor_ -” they cough, “- _ry_ for doing what I thought was best in my completely objective medical opinion. Happy now?”

That was the lamest apology Rhys has ever heard, but apparently it’s good enough for Fiona. She uses a hand to muss up the kid’s hair before taking a few steps back. “Don’t do it again, kid. I mean it.”

They scowl after her as she walks towards Rhys, saying something under their breath that he doesn’t quite catch. Oookay then. He must have missed a lot more than he thought if Fiona was willing to just let them off the hook like that. She lowers herself onto the ground in front of him, pulling her knees up to her chest, and Flick tugs the tie out of their hair to regather it neatly at the nape of their neck before turning away to sort through the mess on top of the large, flat rock in the corner.

“Hey,” Fiona says quietly, pushing some of her hair away from her face. He didn’t notice before, but now that she’s closer, he can see she has a trail of angry-looking welts branching out from under the bandage on her hand, and even some on her cheek.

“Hey.” They look at each other wordlessly for a few seconds before Rhys figures that opening his big mouth and saying whatever comes to mind first is the best course of action here. Because that always works out _so_ well for him. “So... That was weird.”

Alright, good effort. Not as disastrous as it could have been. Fiona lets out a breath, shaking her head.

“Yeah. That kid is a lot of things, but _weird_ sums it up pretty well.” She leans her cheek against her knees, looking more amused than anything else. “But how are you feeling? You were out for a while there. Hit your head pretty hard this time, huh?”

“Me? What? No, I’m fine.” His arm and eye beg to differ. “I mean, I think my cybernetics are fried. They’re not working, like, at all. But, you know, other than that.”

Fiona raises an eyebrow at him. “That sounds like the _opposite_ of fine, Rhys.”

“ _Pfft_ , what? No, this is- I’m totally...” He sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “Okay, yeah, it’s pretty bad. But honestly, Fi- and don’t take this the wrong way- you don’t look so great yourself.”

“Wow. Thanks so much.”

Rhys rolls his eyes. “Don’t be like that. You know what I mean.”

She shakes her head, fighting a smile. “I’m... It looks a lot worse than it is, trust me.”

“No it doesn’t!” Flick suddenly calls from where they’re standing without even bothering to turn around. “Ask her about the nerve damage in her hand.”

Rhys looks at Fiona questioningly- because yeah, one would think that something like _nerve damage_ is worth mentioning- but she’s too busy glaring over her shoulder at Flick’s back to offer an explanation. “Okay, so I know you probably don’t realize this because you live out here all alone like a hermit, but eavesdropping is almost always unforgivably rude.”

“So is lying,” they point out as they face them again, leaning back against the edge of the table. “Also, if you haven’t noticed, we’re like ten feet away from each other. Sound tends to travel in small spaces. So I just couldn’t _help_ but overhear that Astro Boy is having some problems with his... robot parts?”

Rhys blinks a few times. Are they talking about him? “Er... yes?”

“Right. Let me just...” They walk over to start digging through one of the numerous heaps of garbage on the ground, eventually producing a small sack and sliding it across the floor towards Rhys. “See if any of those help.”

He takes a peek inside the bag. It’s filled with all different kinds of electronic parts, everything from extra wires to salvaged motherboards that don’t really look like they’re made for cybernetics. But it’s the thought that counts, right? Before he can go about seeing if any of these will actually help, he has to check his hardware to see what the problem is. Usually he’d rely on his implant for that, but since _that’s_ not working either, he has to do it manually.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a screwdriver, would you?” Rhys asks as he shrugs his coat off, starting to roll up his shirt sleeve. In the process of doing that, he realizes there’s something strange spread all over his collarbone. Something... sticky. And somewhat repugnant smelling. Upon closer inspection, he notices he has burns feathering halfway across his chest, branching off of each other like lightning.

What the hell? He doesn’t even _feel_ that. Well, now that he’s poking at it he kinda does, but if he leaves it alone it’s just strangely numb. Fiona says something that he doesn’t make out because she’s talking into her knees, and as he looks over at her, he realizes that the marks on his chest look the same as the ones on her arm and face. Aw, they have matching lightning scars. How cute is that?

“Can you, uh, say that again?” he says.

“I said you probably shouldn’t touch that,” she repeats herself after lifting her head up. “That stuff is pretty much the only thing keeping you from writhing around in agony right now.”

“Where... did it come from?” he wonders, trying to suppress the urge to prod at it some more.

“Me,” Flick says as they walk over with four different screwdrivers in hand. “It’s a salve for the burns, and she’s right. Stop touching it, that stuff’s hard to come by. Also,” they hold out the tools for him to take, “I didn’t know what kind you needed, so...”

It takes a few tries for him to get the distance right, but eventually Rhys manages to grab them all. One’s way too big so he immediately sets that one to the side, picking through the remaining three. Luckily, one of them is the right shape he needs, and he gets to work on loosening all the screws on the panel located above the inside of his elbow. He seems to have an audience as he pops the hatch open and starts delicately pulling wires out to expose the deeper parts of his arm. Both Fiona and Flick are watching him with something akin to disgust, but with an odd twist of fascination. Like they want to look away but just... can’t.

He makes a face at both of them, self-consciously pulling his arm further into his lap. “Do you two _mind_?”

They both look away quickly, mumbling apologies, but within seconds of him returning to his task, they’re doing it again. The least they could do is be a little more _discreet_ about it, but he guesses he’ll just have to ignore it for now.

Rhys quickly checks the motherboard and power supply but they both seem to be fine. A little evidence of overheating, but nothing that should render his arm completely useless. Rooting around deeper, he pulls more cables out and to the side, being extra careful not to disconnect anything. Once he gets to the breaker panel, he tests each switch to see if any of them tripped, and no big surprise, they all did. He starts resetting them one at a time, but when he gets to the last one, something throws out a _huge_ spark that almost hits him in the face.

“That didn’t look good,” Flick comments thoughtfully. “Maybe you should try blowing on it.”

“I don’t need your input, thanks!” Rhys tells them, rolling his eyes. He leans as far away from his arm as he can and tries the switch again, but the same thing happens as before. It sparks and a jolt runs through his circuitry briefly before dying back out, leaving him stumped.

If only his damn _eye_ was functioning, then he could scan the thing and be done with it. Rhys smacks himself on the temple a couple times, willing his implant to turn back on. Maybe if he just... hits it hard enough, the problem will correct itself? Yeah, that’ll probably work.

“Uh, Rhys,” Fiona coughs, sounding like she’s trying not to laugh. “I don’t think-”

He sighs, dropping his hand. “Yeah, I know. I just- I don’t know what’s wrong. My best guess is the circuit breaker needs to be replaced.” He looks up at Flick. “Have any of those lying around?”

They scratch the back of their head for a moment, thinking. “I don’t think so. But I know someone who might.”

“Someone?” Fiona echoes, twisting around to look at them. “What do you mean someone? I thought you said there was no one else out here.”

“I did say that, because it’s true. What, do you think I would _lie_ to you?” They bring a hand up to their chest, pretending to be offended. “I can’t believe the thought even crossed your mind. I’m hurt.”

“That’s not what I was-” Fiona huffs. “What are you trying to say, exactly?”

“That we have to go on a field trip.” Flick watches her blankly for a few seconds when she doesn’t respond. Eventually they level her with a flat look, raising an eyebrow. “To... where all the people are? You guys didn’t think I was the last person on the face of the planet, did you?”

Well, Rhys wasn’t thinking that, but judging from the look on Fiona’s face, _she_ must have been.

“No, of course not,” she lies through her teeth. To anyone else it probably sounds convincing, but Rhys isn’t fooled. She totally thought they were. “I just don’t get why you live out here away from everyone else if you don’t have to.”

“Because I value my alone time,” they answer vaguely before eagerly changing the subject. “Anyway, it’s a bit of a hike to Due East, so we should get moving. After you, uh, put all your bits away, I mean.”

Rhys snorts and starts tucking his _bits_ back into his arm where they belong while Fiona hops up to her feet.

“We’re going right now?” she asks, planting her hands on her hips. “Can’t it wait?”

“There’s no reason to.” They grab their cape from where they threw it down before, wrapping it around their shoulders. “If you don’t want to come, you can stay here. But if _you_ want your stuff fixed,” they nod at Rhys, “then you better tag along. Otherwise, I won’t know what to look for.”

He... guesses this is what they’re doing now? Weird, but hey, if he can get the parts he needs to repair his cybernetics, he won’t complain. Fiona looks down at him doubtfully but he just shrugs as he replaces the last screw on his arm and snaps the panel shut.

“Sounds good to me,” he says as he begins to push himself to his feet.

“Great. Meet me outside when you’re ready. Oh, and grab one of my extra cloaks, you’re going to need it.” They haul their knapsack onto their back underneath the cape and quickly wrap a scarf around their neck before ducking out of the gap in the wall that leads outside. Fiona stares after them for a moment but turns to Rhys once he’s standing up straight.

“You really want to go?” she asks him as he gives a weird little shudder at all the sand that’s suddenly unsticking from his skin. He didn’t really notice it before when he was sitting still, but now that he’s moving it’s almost unbearably uncomfortable. He curls his toes in his shoes at the feeling out of habit, and oh what do you know! There’s sand in there too.

“I mean, not especially,” he tells Fiona as he leans against the wall and yanks both his boots off to shake them out. He probably should have done this outside, but there’s already a good amount of grit on the floor, so maybe Flick won’t notice. “It sounds like there’s a lot of walking involved and I’m not exactly looking forward to that.”

Fiona follows him as he drifts over to a pile of wadded up laundry, watching him pick through everything until he finds a thin, pale gray cloak that looks like it should fit. “There’s a but in there somewhere, isn’t there?”

Rhys sighs, tugging the shawl over his shoulders one-handed and struggling to fasten the front together. “Contrary to popular belief, it is _very_ inconvenient to only have one functioning arm and eye when you’ve always been used to having two. Like how am I supposed to even-” He flings the strips of fabric to the side with a scoff, and Fiona steps closer to tie them together for him. “Thanks. But you see what I mean? If there’s a chance I can get what I need to repair my cybernetics, then I have to go. How the hell are we supposed to get home if I can’t even tie a knot?”

“I... guess I see your point,” she concedes before moving to pull another cloak from the pile. “But I’m not just going to sit here and twiddle my thumbs while you go have wacky adventures with the kid who thinks running around in a Halloween costume is cool, so. I’m coming with you.”

He can’t help but laugh at that, shaking his head. “They really have that whole... malevolent desert phantom thing going on, don’t they?”

“I personally think it’s closer to some kind of cowboy demon, but yeah. Scared the crap out of me when we met.” Oh, that’s nice to know. At least he wasn’t the only one who nearly had a heart attack at the sight of them. Fiona tugs her hood up before reaching over Rhys’ head to do the same thing to his. “Ready to go?”

As ready as he can be. He turns towards the hole in the wall, gesturing for her to go first. “After you.”

The sunlight is so overbearing when they step outside that Rhys has to squint and raise a hand to shield his eye from it, and he almost bumps into Fiona who must have stopped to do the same thing. It’s also a lot hotter out here than he was expecting, which makes him grateful that he didn’t put his jacket back on. Almost everything he’s wearing is black anyway, and while his expert color coordination definitely makes him look fashionable, he has a sneaking suspicion that he’s soon going to regret springing for the darker wardrobe choice.

Flick is hopping up and down impatiently at the end of the short alleyway they emerged into, spinning around when they notice they’re no longer alone.

“I figured you wouldn’t want to stay behind,” they tell Fiona, pulling their goggles up over their eyes. They turn to Rhys and take one very generous step back so they’re not tilting their head back as far just to look at him. “Wow. You are... freakishly tall.”

Rhys raises an eyebrow. He was right about severely underestimating just how small they are; the top of their head barely reaches his shoulders. That makes them, what, about a solid foot shorter than he is? Maybe a little more? And he’s not even _that_ tall. “No, kid, I think you’re just freakishly tiny.”

They hum thoughtfully as they turn and start marching out into the open. “I’ll remember that when I’m bartering away my most precious possessions to pay for your cyborg parts.”

Rhys actually feels a little bad for a second before he notices Fiona shaking her head. “Ignore them. They’re full of shit half the time. More than half the time, actually.”

“Takes one to know one!” they call over their shoulder, stopping when they realize Fiona and Rhys haven’t moved. “Are you guys coming or what?”

Now that his eye is better adjusted to how damn bright it is out here, Rhys can tell they’re right smack in the middle of some kind of abandoned city. Decaying buildings reach up into the sky on all sides, casting a good portion of the ground in shade. Orangey-yellow sand is beginning to encroach on the ruins, like the desert is slowly swallowing the place whole.

Because the Vault couldn’t take them to a _nice_ planet with like, scenic forests or something. Or at least a milder climate. Nooo, of course not. Just throw them on a bootleg Pandora but with finer sand that’s way better at sticking in his armpits than the stuff back home. It’s not like his dry cleaning bill is already astronomical or anything.

Fiona trails after Flick out onto what must have been a road at some point, and Rhys follows with a grimace. As soon as he leaves the cover of the alleyway, he’s blasted with a gust of wind that blows his hood down. He has to yank it back up and hold it in place as Flick leads the group through the winding avenues of the old city. Nobody talks- probably for fear of getting sand in their mouths, except for Flick who is clearly better suited and prepared for this place than either Rhys or Fiona are- until they make it out of the ruins into a wide, open stretch of desert.

Despite being protected from the worst of the sun for most of that walk, Rhys still somehow managed to get all gross and sweaty. The wind isn’t as powerful out here since it doesn’t have to funnel between a bunch of buildings, so at least he can actually let go of his hood now. He lifts his head up to take in all this... lovely scenery. And by lovely scenery he means it’s a bunch of sand with some rocky cliffs a good ways off in the distance and pretty much nothing else. Minimalism is in even with the ecosystems nowadays, apparently.

Flick points at the cliff face ahead of them.

“Due East on the other side of the gorge,” they explain, glancing back at Rhys and Fiona. “Everybody feeling okay? I probably should have asked that before we left. If either one of you are going to collapse, can you try to do it one at a time? Or take turns or something? I can’t drag both of you around at once.”

Rhys, surprisingly, doesn’t feel that bad for the most part. His joints are a little stiff, but he’s going to guess that’s from not moving for a few days. He looks over at Fiona to see that she’s limping a little, favoring her right side, but he doesn’t have a chance to ask about it before she’s shaking her head and answering Flick’s question. “We’re good. How far away is this place, exactly?”

“Past the gorge,” they repeat, which isn’t helpful at all. “It’ll take a couple hours assuming we don’t run into any problems on the way.”

Okay, that’s a little more helpful. And also rather discouraging, because Rhys _really_ doesn’t want to have to trudge through the sweltering heat for that long, but it’s too late to turn around now. He wouldn’t even know how to get back if he did.

They make decent progress across the arid expanse. Rhys keeps glimpsing over at Fiona, all kinds of questions on the tip of his tongue, but she looks so deep in thought that he doesn’t want to bother her. Once they draw closer to the cliffs though, she winds up turning and asking him out of nowhere, “How much do you remember, anyway? Of the... Of what happened in the Vault?”

Um. Alright then. He’s not sure why she’s asking that _now_ but…

“All of it,” he admits. “Up until the, uh, lightning-y part. Obviously. Why?”

She looks away from him then, drawing her hood down further to cover her face. “I just don’t get why you did it.”

Rhys blinks a few times, confused. “Did what?”

“The whole,” she waves a hand, “self-sacrificial thing. Trying to help me instead of protecting yourself.”

 _That’s_ what’s been bothering her? Rhys sighs, bringing up a hand to rub at the back of his neck. He hasn’t even really had time to think about it; in fact, he’d almost forgotten about the whole thing until she just brought it up.

The thing is, Rhys would be the first one to say that Fiona doesn’t get scared of anything, ever. In fact, she’s probably the most fearless person he’s ever met, always running headfirst into danger like it’s some kind of sport. But in that moment back in the Vault, with all the piercing light and the thunder booming right on top of them, she’d looked terrified. It had been so hard to see; he was only _barely_ able to make her out, and he just... he doesn’t know. He wanted to help her? Even if it came at his own expense.

But it’s not like he can _say_ any of that without coming off as... extremely corny. So Rhys shrugs as they continue to walk side by side, looking down. “I... don’t know. Because I care about you? It was just instinct, Fi. Why are you even asking?”

Feet dragging through sand is the only sound for a few seconds before Fiona speaks up again. “Because it was stupid.”

Uh. What? He doesn’t understand. Was that the wrong thing to say? “Are you... Are you _mad_ at me?”

“Well, I mean,” she huffs. “Yeah. A little.”

“For trying to help you?” he asks incredulously. Only Fiona would get pissed off about something like this. “Seriously? I think most people would just say ‘thank you’ and move on.”

She narrows her eyes almost accusingly, which is weird because Rhys isn’t even sure what he’s being accused _of_. “Does it not occur to you when you pull that kind of shit that you’re putting your life at stake? You could have _died_ , Rhys. When I found you all curled up in a ditch, face down and bleeding out of your ears, I thought for sure you didn’t make it.”

“But... I mean... I _did_ , so.”

“That’s not the point, jackass!” she says a little too loudly, and they both glance over at Flick. They had to have heard that outburst, but they don’t show any outward sign of it as they silently lead the trio towards a divide in the cliff face.

It’s quiet for a while as they make their way down the rocky passageway, until Fiona apparently decides she isn’t done chewing him out for no reason.“You might have been alive, but only barely. I had to drag you across this dusty craphole and through the goddamn Chamber of Secrets and even _then_ I still had no idea if you were ever going to wake up again.”

Okay, he knows he’s totally focusing on the wrong thing here, but he just _has_ to ask. “The... Chamber of Secrets?”

She slaps her forehead, dragging her hand down her face. “Right, you wouldn’t know because you were _comatose_. There’s no way to put this lightly, so I’m just going to come right out and say it-”

Oh, that. “We’re not on Pandora,” he finishes for her, although he’s not entirely sure how that relates to what she said before. Fiona drops her hand to stare at him, appalled. “I already know. The kid told me. Plus it’s... kinda obvious. The sand here isn’t even the same.”

Fiona blinks at him a couple times. “You... And you’re just... okay with that?”

“Well, _no_. Of course not.” He raises an eyebrow at her. “But I’m not going to go running around looking for Elpis if that’s what you’re asking.”

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. Being angry at her for giving him a hard time about the Vault is one thing, but _mocking_ her for being overcome with shock after everything she went through is just... that was low, even for him.

Fiona’s eyebrows draw together and she frowns so hard that he can tell she’s past being upset with him; now she’s _hurt_. “Screw you, Rhys.”

Oh man, he messed up. He messed up so bad. Sure, she was being an asshole, but he didn’t have to be one _back_. “Fi, look, I’m sorry. I didn’t- I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just... everything’s really weird right now, okay? And you’re not exactly helping by yelling at me when I was only trying to-”

“The only reason I’m _yelling_ is because I was-” She snaps her mouth shut and looks away. After chewing on her lip for a few seconds, she peeks back over at him and tells him in a much lower voice than before, “Forget it. Just don’t do it again.”

He’s a little curious about what she was going to say before she trailed off all meaningfully, but now he’s too miffed to ask.

“No problem,” he grouses instead. “Since you’d just shout at me some more if I did.”

Fiona scoffs, kicking at a rock in her path. “You know, you really piss me off sometimes.”

“Yeah? Well. The feeling is mutual,” he mutters.

She’s about to say something else, but Flick stops in their tracks and rounds on both of them before she gets the chance. “You two always fight like this?”

They’re both speechless for a second, until Fiona points at Flick accusingly. “Were you eavesdropping? _Again_?”

Rhys snorts, giving Fiona a look. “Obviously they were eavesdropping. Or maybe you just have poor volume control.”

“Shut up,” she retorts loudly, not helping her case. “I wasn’t talking to _you_.”

“Um, wow, okay.” Flick crosses their arms and shakes their head disapprovingly. “Let’s take it down a couple notches, alright? You guys are waaay up here,” they reach a hand above their head, “when you really need to be down here.” The use their other one to indicate a more reasonable height a considerable distance below the first.

“No offense, kid, but this really isn’t your business,” Rhys points out.

“Now see, that’s where you’re wrong. I have to listen to you two bicker whether I want to or not, because yes, Barcelona,” they tilt their head at Fiona, “you _do_ have poor volume control.”

Rhys smirks smugly at her and she scowls in response.

“I’m only going to say this once,” Flick starts as they turn back around to continue leading them down the chasm. “Whatever weird, unresolved issues you have with each other are going to have to wait. There’s bigger fish to fry right now, okay? Plus I really, _really_ do not want to bear witness to your atrocious communication skills any more than I already have. It’s like watching a train wreck in slow motion. Or listening to one. Whatever.”

Fiona folds her arms in front of her with a huff. “Because I’m sure you’re such an expert on communicating with assholes who have no common sense.”

“Uh, no,” Flick says before Rhys can even mention how goddamn _rude_ that was. “But I know enough to realize that not saying what you really mean is a good way to get everybody all bent out of shape.” They spin on their heel and walk backwards for a few seconds, jabbing a finger in Fiona’s direction. “And don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. It might have completely flown over _his_ head, but not mine. Try being sincere for once, the results might surprise you.”

Wait, what? What flew over his head? He’s totally missing something here. “Can you, uh-”

“No,” they quip before turning to face forward again. “I don’t care enough about your problems to mediate your stupid argument. What was it you just said, anyway? That it’s not my business?”

Dammit. Rhys risks a glance over at Fiona but she’s in no mood to talk anymore if the way she’s glaring at him is anything to go by, so they all continue on in silence.

Rhys kicks at the sand a little as he walks along. He just doesn’t get why Fiona was so _angry_ in the first place. Maybe it’s a pride thing? It’s not like he did what he did because he thought she couldn’t handle herself. Believe him, he knows she can. But he doubts that’s the case here; she’s way too confident to let someone underestimating her get under her skin so badly. If anything, she’d use something like that to her advantage.

No, it has to be something else. He just... can’t think of what it could be. Whatever it is, it’s probably going to keep bugging her, so he doubts he’s heard the last of it. Hopefully next time she can bring it up in a mature manner instead of turning the whole thing into a pissing contest. Or at least reign herself in enough to keep the volume of the conversation under eighty decibels.

 _Ha_ , yeah. Like that’s gonna happen.

The canyon narrows as the three of them make their way further down, forcing them to walk single file. Which Rhys is not-so-secretly grateful for because he was getting tired of Fiona passive aggressively shooting dirty looks in his direction every few seconds. The passage winds around for a while until there’s a break in the rock that leads out into... another expanse of desert. What a shocker. After squeezing out of the gap, he realizes that this stretch is a little different from the last in that it looks like some type of gorge. The ground gently slopes down towards the middle and then rises back up again towards the other side, like a river used to run through here. No water anymore though, although it would have been a welcome sight. Running around in the baking heat like this is making Rhys extremely thirsty.

And he isn’t the only one either. Flick stops walking to reach behind them and unhook a canteen from their belt. After unscrewing the top, they tug down their scarf and lift the flask halfway to their mouth before noticing Rhys.

“Oh,” they say, sounding a little guilty. They spare a look at Fiona who is staring just as intently as Rhys is. “You guys are like dogs or something.”

“Wow, thanks! That’s so flattering,” Rhys retorts.

“I mean, you _are_. Just gawking at me instead of using your people words to say you’re thirsty. I’m not a mind reader, you know.” They twist the lid back on and toss the canteen to Rhys. Despite his best efforts, it winds up smacking him in the chest and falling to the ground. “Nice catch.”

Scoffing, Rhys bends over to retrieve it. “What part of ‘my cybernetics aren’t working’ don’t you understand?”

“You still have your other arm, don’t you?”

“It’s my eye that’s the problem, kid. Ever heard of depth perception?” They stare at him blankly while he tries to figure out how to open this damn thing with only one hand. Eventually he just passes it off to Fiona, who opens it and chugs no less than half of its contents before giving it back to him. Really? Was it that hard to wait her turn?

After taking his own drink, the canteen is nearly empty. Rhys hands it back to Flick sheepishly, but they don’t seem to mind, finishing it off before letting their backpack slide to the ground. “You’re telling me that your entire _eye_ is augmented?”

“Uh, yeah?” What, have they never even heard of ECHO implants before? He guesses this place is pretty remote, but still. Most people on Pandora could probably recognize them, or at least take an educated guess about what they are.

Then again, this isn’t Pandora.

Flick unzips their bag and pulls another thermos out of it before shoving the empty one back in, standing up straight to look at Rhys again. “That... is _so_ cool.”

“Oh,” he says stupidly. “You- You really think so?”

Fiona sighs and he glances over to see her rolling her eyes. “Can we get a move on already? It’s hot as hell out here.”

Leave it to Fiona to rain on everybody’s parade. Although she’s not exactly wrong about it being way too hot and sticky to stand around chit chatting, so. Flick shrugs and takes a long drink of their own, hooking the new container on the back of their belt when they’re finished. They get their backpack situated on their shoulders again and readjust their scarf before setting off once more across the valley.

By the time they’re approaching the east wall of the gorge, fatigue is starting to seep into Rhys’ bones. Which really sucks because not only do they have to finish getting to wherever they’re going, but they also have to walk all the way _back_. Fiona doesn’t look so hot either, her limp noticeably worse than it was, and he sort of wants to ask if she’s alright before remembering that they’re still pissed at each other. She’d probably tear his head off if he said anything anyway, so he keeps his mouth shut as Flick points out another divide in the rock up ahead.

This chasm turns out to be way more cramped than the last one was, to the point that both Fiona and Rhys have to walk sideways to even fit their shoulders through the gap. Flick is just barely small enough to slip through without having to adjust their gait, and in turn can move much faster through the uncomfortably narrow ravine.

“Hey!” Fiona calls out as they move farther ahead. “Wait up, will you?”

“It gets a little wider further down,” they explain without slowing. “I’ll wait for you guys there.”

That’s... strange. They’ve been perfectly content to lead with a forgiving pace up until now.

“You don’t think they’re ditching us, do you?” Rhys wonders.

“I doubt it,” Fiona says as she tries to unsnag her cloak from where it’s gotten caught on the rock behind her. “They’re probably just being weird.”

That’s not the best explanation she could have given him, since it raises more questions than it answers. But if the kid hasn’t given Fiona any reason to mistrust them yet, then Rhys guesses he can have a little more faith in her judgement. It’s true that Flick has been helpful for the most part- if not a little annoying and leaning towards the questionable side as far as their ethics go- but something about them still seems... off. Their story about how they came across the two of them still strikes him as _way_ too convenient, like there’s more to it that they’re not saying.

Maybe he’s just being paranoid. He’s probably being paranoid.

After Fiona manages to free herself, they continue maneuvering down the passageway until it eventually begins to open up a little. Flick is waiting like they said they would be, though they seem a little antsy even as they wordlessly turn to keep pushing forward. Whatever their problem is really isn’t his business, but seeing _them_ so anxious is making _him_ nervous too. Fiona doesn’t look like she’s affected by it at all, too busy clutching her ribs and trying to walk without making ugly faces. So the fact that somebody here isn’t a huge ball of nerves right now is somewhat comforting at least.

Everybody breathes a collective sigh of relief when they finally leave the canyon and stumble back into wide, open space. Rhys takes a moment to catch his breath because for some reason, squeezing through that suffocating pass was a lot more exhausting than it should have been. When he looks up again, he’s pleasantly surprised to see something other than a bunch of goddamn sand stretching for miles in every direction.

Well, okay, there’s still a lot of that. But directly in front of them at the base of the slight hill they’re standing on is a sprawling oasis. The large, deep blue body of water tapers off into a river that continues north for as far as he can see, and the banks are dense with plantlife. Or he’s guessing it’s plantlife, but Rhys doesn’t think he’s ever seen plants that look _quite_ like that. All the shrubs, trees, and even the grasses are almost black in color, and his first thought is that they’re all diseased somehow. They just look so... unnatural.

Other than the questionable health of the vegetation, lightly colored, multi-leveled structures dot the landscape close to the shores. Most of them are concentrated in one big cluster on the south side of the lake, arranged into a semicircle and partially built into the cliff wall adjacent from the one that they emerged from. The bluffs curve in an L-shape around the oasis, naturally protecting it from the west and south while leaving it exposed on the other sides.

What did Flick keep calling this place? Due East? Have to wonder if there’s a Due West. It’s beautiful in its own weird and vaguely unnerving way, although he’d probably be able to appreciate it more if he wasn’t standing here drowning in his own sweat.

“Wow,” Fiona whistles, walking up to stand beside Flick before planting her hands on her hips. “This place is a far cry from those creepy ruins you live in, kid.”

They sigh, shaking their head. “Yeah, that’s kinda the point. Ritual sacrifice is frowned upon around these parts so I had to move somewhere less... censorious.”

Oh. Oh god.

“ _Um_ ,” Rhys laughs nervously, suddenly afraid that his initial impression of them being a bloodthirsty psychopath was actually the right one. “You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Afraid not,” they muse thoughtfully and tilt their head at Rhys. “It’s really a shame how closed-minded people are these days. What I do... It doesn’t hurt anyone. Well, except the sacrifices. I guess _they_ get hurt. A lot.”

Fiona rolls her eyes and cuffs Flick on the back of the head before Rhys has a chance to run screaming in the other direction. “Stop _doing_ that. I already told you that whole freaky cultist schtick isn’t funny.”

“Oh, come _on_.” They start leading the group down the slope, talking over their shoulder. “It’s a little funny. Right, uh, Patrice?”

It takes Rhys a second to realize that they’re talking to him. He hesitates before trailing after them, still a little on edge. “Um, no? That was- Nothing about that was amusing. I’ve laughed more at my own reflection after having too much to drink. Do you honestly think scaring the shit out of people is funny?”

“Are you kidding? That’s like, the epitome of humor.”

“I don’t think-”

“Epitome.”

“You-”

“Of humor.”

Rhys groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. _This_ again. “There’s actually a word for that, you know. It’s called being a dick.”

“That’s more than one word,” they point out.

“Oh for- Who the hell even cares!”

“I mean, if you’re going to say ‘there’s a word for that’ you should at least make sure-”

“Kid,” Fiona interrupts, looking just as annoyed as Rhys feels.

“What?”

“Stop talking.”

“Oh _sure_ , yeah, okay. I see how it is.” They start walking backwards when they reach the bottom of the hill, crossing their arms defensively. “It’s all ‘please help us, Flick’ and ‘take us to your weirdo friend to fix Sir Whines-a-Lot, Flick’ until I start-”

“Being a dick? Yeah, exactly. Glad we’re all on the same page.” Rhys thinks for a second before adding, “Also, I don’t _whine_.”

Fiona makes this weird noise like she might not necessarily agree with that, but doesn’t say anything else. Probably because she, like him, is realizing the futility of this conversation. Or maybe she’s hurting too much right now to care. It’s always so hard to tell with her. Is she in pain? Is she pissed off? Who knows! Certainly not Rhys.

The matter is officially dropped as they get closer to the outskirts of the oasis. Rhys can spot groups of people walking along the paths between the buildings even from here, and while some stop to watch the trio’s progress as they steadily make their way towards the settlement, most pay them no mind at all. They wind up on a road that leads straight into what looks like a residential district, although Flick quickly turns north towards the lake and takes them down to the lowest tier of the town closest to the water.

The streets are narrow and filled with people clad in loose, almost western-style clothing similar to what Flick’s wearing. It’s not crowded by any means, and most are too busy rushing on about their business to notice the group making their way down the steps. But the deeper into this place they get, the more attention they start to attract. People stop to point and whisper, and it takes until they find themselves in the middle of a bustling plaza for it to occur to Rhys that it’s not him and Fiona that they’re staring at; it’s _Flick_.

He wants to say something because this all feels incredibly bizarre, but before he gets a chance to, Flick suddenly ducks into a nearby alleyway and beckons for them to follow. Rhys and Fiona exchange a doubtful look- nothing good ever happens in shady-looking back streets- but they came all the way here, so it’d be pretty stupid to turn back now. They both cautiously shuffle after Flick, and Rhys allows Fiona to take the lead here because if things start getting stabby, he has no qualms against hiding behind her like a human shield.

And also, uh, she’s the one with the gun.

The buildings are built so close together back here that the entire road is cast in shadow despite the sun still being quite high in the sky. Surprisingly, it’s almost as busy as it was in the plaza, though that doesn’t do much to kill the whole filthy back alley vibe this place still has going on. Everybody hustles about with a certain air of secrecy, heads down and hoods drawn low. Rhys doesn’t really get the whole cloak and dagger thing, but hey, at least they’re too preoccupied with that to give the three of them any trouble.

They maneuver their way around heaps of trash and hopefully not dead people sprawled near the sides of the road until they come across a relatively inconspicuous door. Most of these buildings don’t have very many windows but this one has two, one on each side of the doorway. They’re both shuttered tight though, so who knows what’s awaiting them inside. Flick unceremoniously pushes the door open and steps over the threshold, and after a moment of silent deliberation, Rhys and Fiona do the same.

Thankfully, it’s much cooler in here than it is outside. It’s also a lot darker, so Rhys sort of meanders by the front door for a few moments as his eye adjusts, using the hem of his cloak to wipe away the sweat that’s accumulated on his forehead. Once he can actually somewhat see again, he takes a quick look around.

There’s so much _stuff_ in here that it feels almost claustrophobic, things set out on display on long shelves and piled in crates on the floor. Name literally anything and it’s probably here somewhere; everything from assorted weapons to old furniture, and so many random knick knacks that this could probably pass as somebody’s grandma’s house if it wasn’t so disgustingly unorganized. The room itself is wider than it is long and a counter runs nearly the whole width of it towards the back, which also happens to have so much junk on top of it that he can barely even see the top.

Flick has their scarf pulled down and goggles around their neck as they pick their way towards the left corner of the room. They stop in front of an archway that has some of those hippie door beads hanging from the trim, and after parting them out of the way, they poke their head through to call something into the back room. There’s no response at first so they walk all the way in, briefly disappearing from view.

It’s eerily quiet for a few seconds. Rhys leans back against the wall with a sigh as Fiona idly picks through a box of salt and pepper shakers, but they both freeze when there’s a resounding _crash_ from the back.

“That... didn’t sound good,” Rhys says, which earns him a dry look from Fiona.

“Your powers of observation never fail to impress me, Rhys.” She pushes off the shelf she was leaning on and wipes her hands on her pants, starting to make her way towards the doorway Flick went through.

Before she can get very far though, the kid comes backing out of it so fast that they nearly rip the beads down, and is followed closely by a tall, furious-looking old man with a cane that he seems to be using as a weapon.

“Come _on_ , Keanu,” Flick is saying, moving just in time to avoid a blow to the shoulder. “Can’t we have a civilized conversation for once?”

“Do I look _civilized_ to you?” the old man rasps out with a scowl. “I told you after last time I never wanted to see your face again. I don’t want anyone thinking I still associate with the likes of _you_.”

Flick manages to grab the man’s cane mid-swing and doesn’t let go, even as he tries to yank it back. “Don’t you stand there and act like you have some moral high ground over me when half the stuff in here is probably stolen, and that’s not even counting the black market you have running out the back. You really think nobody knows about that either?”

Oh, Rhys doesn’t like the sound of this. Just how many criminals is he going to have to befriend before he learns his damn lesson?

Fiona slowly backs up to lean against the wall beside him while those two have some kind of silent standoff. It’s like a battle of wills or something. But eventually the old man- Keanu, he thinks Flick said his name was- grunts and snatches his cane back, hobbling behind the counter. “I’m getting sick of the trouble you bring into this place, runt.”

“Well, prepare to get sicker,” Flick says cheerfully, looking over their shoulder to motion for Fiona and Rhys to come closer.

Keanu looks up and squints at them as they cautiously make their way over, as if he’s just now noticing them for the first time.

“Outsiders?” he grumbles, fumbling for a pair of glasses he has on a chain around his neck. “A _synthetic_?”

Um, is that supposed to be referring to _him_? Rhys glances at Fiona but she’s too busy sizing this guy up to help him out.

“I- uh. No?” he stammers. “I’m very much a person, thanks for asking.”

Keanu turns to Flick and they nod in agreement. “Yep. Checked him all out, he’s definitely one hundred percent a human being. Well, except for his robot parts, obviously. Which is why we’re here.”

He doesn’t look entirely convinced, but gestures for Rhys to prop his arm up on the counter anyway. “Well? Let’s have a look, then. The quicker we get this done, the quicker you can all get the hell out.”

The hospitality is just heartwarming. As Rhys struggles to heft the limb up, he wonders if he should even try to be polite at this point, or if this old man is too crotchety to be swayed by silly things like _good manners_. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Fiona slinking away from the three of them, probably to go pilfer some small items into her pockets or whatever it is she does when she thinks no one’s looking at her.

Rhys rolls up his sleeve again to expose the hatch on the inside of his elbow, and Keanu produces a few screwdrivers from his pants pocket. After picking through them, he finds one that’s the right shape and size for the screws, and immediately sets to work.

“Do you... have much experience with cybernetics?” Rhys asks tentatively, only a little afraid of getting yelled at.

“Cyber what now?” Keanu mutters. He pulls the last screw out and sets it on the counter in a pile with the rest.

Great. No, really, that inspires sooo much confidence. Rhys rests his other elbow on the counter, drumming his fingers on the surface as Keanu gently pokes at the innards of his arm. “I, uh, think there’s a problem with the-”

“Quiet,” he snaps. Okay, fine, whatever. It’s already completely busted, so what more can this guy do to it? He pulls out wires and inspects the deeper parts in his arm intensely, but doesn’t do anything special or say anything else.

Rhys is starting to think this was all just a massive waste of time before Keanu suddenly says, “Have you tried blowing on it?”

“Oh my god,” Rhys groans.

“That’s what I said too,” Flick chimes in from right beside him, making him jump. Have they been standing there this whole time? “But he didn’t listen to me.”

Rolling his eyes, Rhys turns back to Keanu. “I get that your guys’ technological know-how ends with Nintendo 64’s, but you have to believe me. These things are _much_ more complicated and intricate than that, okay?”

The old man ignores him, leaning in to blow heavily into the open port.

“Seriously, man?” Rhys sighs. “I read the user manual. Well, okay, I skimmed it. But I know for a fact that just blowing on it isn’t... going to...”

Keanu resets the last switch on his circuit breaker, and all his wiring abruptly jumps back to life.

“...work,” he finishes, flexing all his mechanical fingers one by one in awe. How in the hell…

“Sand in the breaker,” Keanu explains. “Happens all the time.”

Rhys brings up his left hand to rub at his forehead, trying to suppress the urge to slap himself. Sand in the breaker. Of course. Of _course_. Why didn’t he think of that? They could have avoided having to make this hellish trip if he’d just blown on the goddamn thing like the kid told him to.

“What about your eye? Is that fixed now too?” the kid asks him, pulling him from his reverie of self loathing.

He shakes his head as Keanu works on screwing the panel on his arm back into place. “It’s on a different grid, so to speak. I have to access it via interface.”

After replacing the last screw, Keanu pockets all his screwdrivers again and takes his glasses off to squint at both of them. “Is that it, then? Or are you going to waste even more of my time?”

“Actually,” Flick starts, letting their backpack slide off their shoulders and pulling it around to unzip it. They produce a piece of paper with completely illegible writing on it, smoothing it out on the counter. “I need supplies. _Real_ stuff, if you don’t mind. Rip me off like last time and you’ll be sorry.”

Keanu hacks out a humorless laugh, waving a dismissive hand. “Now you’re just pushing your luck, runt. I know Hau raised you better than to speak to your elders like that. What would he think if he could see you now, I wonder? Squatting out in those old ruins because none of us would stand for you living here after what you did?”

Flick's face goes completely blank, but their stance shifts ever so slightly that Rhys can feel the rage rolling off of them in waves. The last part of what Keanu said was... rather ominous. But whoever Hau is must be a sore topic, because the kid looks about ready to leap over the counter and strangle the old man just for mentioning the name. So _that_ all took a turn he wasn’t expecting, and this is definitely a conversation that he wants to be as far away from as possible before it erupts into something worse.

He starts backing away as quickly as he can without it being super awkward, but he does manage to catch Flick quietly saying with no small amount of malice, “Well, he’s dead, isn’t he? So what he would think doesn’t matter.”

Nope, he didn’t want to hear that. Doesn’t involve him, so he doesn’t care. He ducks behind one of the taller shelves and nearly walks right into Fiona, who’s leaning so casually up against the end that it _almost_ isn’t immediately obvious that she’s eavesdropping. They look at each other blankly for a few moments before Rhys raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

She tilts her head, making a face. “What does it _look_ like I’m doing?”

“Being nosy,” he answers honestly, which makes her frown even harder. “What? You asked. Did you think nobody would notice you slipping off to go find a convenient corner to stand in where you can still hear everything? I don’t know if you know this, Fi, but when you try to act all nonchalant, it makes you even more suspicious.”

“Ugh, whatever. Will you please just shut up? I’m trying to-”

“Eavesdrop? Like the big hypocrite you are?”

She tries to swat at him but he manages to block her for the most part with his newly functioning cybernetic arm. Scowling, she spins back around with a huff. “Just be quiet. They might start talking about something useful.”

Right, sure, okay. Rolling his eyes, Rhys raises his hand to bring up his palm interface. It feels so _good_ to actually be able to move his arm around freely again. He will never, ever take that for granted for the rest of his life, probably. Navigating through the menus, he gets to his subsystems screen and resets the breakers in his implant, crossing his fingers that there’s not a bunch of sand in there too. Cleaning _that_ out would be a little more complicated than just popping open a hatch on the inside of his elbow.

Luckily, everything goes off without a hitch. His implant boots back up and his sight is returned to him shortly thereafter. He runs a few tests to make sure everything’s still working correctly, although it seems like there’s something wrong with his scanning function. It switches over just fine, but no entries are popping up from the database. He wouldn’t expect anything around here to be logged, but Fiona should still be showing up, at the very least.

He’s still trying to figure it out by the time Fiona turns to face him again. She opens her mouth like she’s about to say something but cuts herself off when she sees his implant is active, opting instead to cross her arms with a scoff. “Stop _doing_ that. I’ve told you before not to scan me. It makes me feel weird.”

Snorting, Rhys shakes his head but lets his implant deactivate. “Weird how?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs, picking at the bandage on her hand. “Just weird. So stop it.”

“Uh, I did. Like five seconds ago.”

“Well, good.”

“Great.”

“ _Fantastic_.”

Why are they standing so close to each other.

Before he can think of a valid answer to that question, Flick suddenly rounds the corner into the aisle they’re in. They stop abruptly, looking between the two of them for a few seconds. “What... are you guys doing?”

Fiona takes a large step away from Rhys and pretends to be interested in a crate of wrenches on the shelf, leaving him to fend for himself.

“What- What does it look like we’re doing?” he says after a moment, getting the vaguest sense of déjà vu.

“Oh, ew.” They scrunch their nose up a little bit. What? What’s _ew_? “Never mind. I don’t care. Let’s just go already.”

Rhys is still wondering what the hell was so _ew_ about what he said as they all make their way towards the front door. Just as Flick grabs the knob to push it open, something _cracks_ from behind them, making all three of them jump and turn back around.

“Young lady,” Keanu rasps out, hobbling his way around the counter with a _clickety clack_ of his cane. “I think you’re forgetting something. I don’t run a charity, so if you’re going to take something of mine, I expect to be paid for it.”

Oh, shit. This is what Rhys was talking about; he really needs to start cutting down his list of friends with felonious tendencies. He just can’t _go_ anywhere anymore without getting stuck in the middle of some heist gone wrong.

Fiona looks convincingly unaware as Keanu approaches her, but Rhys knows better. She’s going to try and swindle this guy instead of just paying for whatever the hell she took, because admitting she was caught is never an option for her.

“I’m afraid I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” she tells him with a smile. “You must be mistaken.”

In a heartbeat, Keanu has her pinned to the wall with his cane against her throat.

“I don’t make mistakes, little girl. If you want something of mine, you’re going to have to pay for it,” he reaches around with his free hand and tugs a pistol out of the back of his pants, pressing the barrel against Fiona’s temple, “one way or another.”

Shit. Shit shit _shit_. Rhys feels completely frozen, unsure of what to do. What _can_ he do that won’t get Fiona’s brains blown out? He’s afraid to speak, afraid to even _breathe_ lest that give this old man a reason to pull the trigger.

Fiona doesn’t say anything, scowling defiantly as she tries to pry Keanu’s arm and cane away from her throat. He presses down harder in response, making her wheeze and choke and kick at his legs but to no avail. Apparently, the feeble old man act was just for show. He doesn’t even wince when she rams her foot directly into his shin.

“Maybe we should all just... relax a little, huh? Talk this out like reasonable people?” Rhys suggests shakily.

“Reason is for pushovers and bureaucrats,” Keanu spits out over his shoulder, “of which I am neither. Keep talking, synthetic, and this one will wind up with a bullet in her head that much faster.”

Flick spares a glance over at Rhys, looking just as horrified as he feels.

“You don’t want to do this, Keanu,” they say slowly, starting to edge closer. “Whatever she took, it’s not worth killing her over.”

He leans his head back and laughs at that, the sound so rough and gravelly and downright _creepy_ that it sends a chill up Rhys’ spine.

“Is that so?” Without releasing her, Keanu lowers the gun from Fiona’s head and reaims it right at Flick, which makes them stop dead in their tracks. “Maybe I should kill _you_ instead. I wouldn’t expect an outsider to know how things work around here, but I can’t say the same for you. The rules are clear, runt. Either pay for what she took or none of you are leaving.”

Rhys tenses up. He has to _do_ something, goddammit. Things are going from bad to worse and if it keeps going like this, they’re all going to wind up in one big corpse pile. They probably wouldn’t even get a nice burial either, just dumped in the river or left out for the skags. Or whatever this planet’s equivalent of skags is.

Flick doesn’t say anything. _Nobody_ says anything. For a few long, incredibly tense seconds, it’s dead silent. Everybody’s frozen in place, either in absolute fear or sadistic anticipation.

Keanu’s finger starts to twitch over the trigger. Rhys is so close to just taking his chances and trying to tackle the old man to the ground, but before anything treacherous can happen, Fiona suddenly shoves her hand into her pants pocket and then holds something out.

“And what could this be?” Keanu wonders, easing up on her throat slightly but keeping his gun trained on Flick.

“Radios,” she gasps, coughing a few times. “ECHO comms. You put them in your ear. They’re long range and... nearly indestructible.”

Rhys knows for a fact that’s not true at all, especially with the earpieces. They’re prone to static and fall out more often than they stay in, or at the very least that’s how _his_ always was before Fiona apparently swiped it from him while he was asleep. It really doesn’t matter though, because if it fools Keanu, then maybe- just maybe- they can get out of here _alive_.

The old man looks thoughtful for a few moments, studying the ECHOs in Fiona’s palm. When he finally backs away, she slumps over with a wheeze, clutching at her chest as she starts to hack up a lung. Keanu takes the earpieces from her and tucks his pistol back into his pants, turning away with a wave.

“A pleasure doing business with you, young lady. And Kele,” Keanu spares a thin smile over his shoulder at Flick, “do try to keep your nose clean. Hau and Talia would have wanted better for you.”

The relief is so overwhelming that Rhys’ knees almost give out from the weight of it. He can’t believe that actually _worked_. He rushes over to catch Fiona before she falls all the way over, maneuvering her arm over his shoulders so he can help support her weight. Flick is staring after Keanu with the same enraged look they had when he mentioned Hau before, and for a moment Rhys is worried that they’re going to do something that might jeopardize their only chance of escape.

But after a large amount of visible effort, they manage to unroot themselves from their spot and move to push the door open, holding it out of the way so they can all get the _hell_ out of here before that crazy old man changes his mind.

Once they’re back out in the alley, Flick readjusts their scarf and goggles as they lead them back out the way they came from. Fiona hasn’t stopped coughing yet, earning quite a few odd looks from onlookers, but they keep pushing forward as fast as they possibly can. The steps on the road out slow them down significantly, to the point where Flick drops back to support Fiona’s other side. It’s not until they crest the hill that leads back towards the cliff face that she has to stop, doubling over and holding her side with a grimace.

Everyone’s a little out of breath, even Flick, who’s standing in front of Fiona with their hands on their hips and somehow managing to look very displeased despite having their entire face covered. “Are you just... completely stupid?”

Fiona huffs out a laugh, and when she speaks, her voice sounds painfully hoarse. “I’ve been asked that before. Still don’t know if it’s supposed to be a trick question or not.”

“I’m glad this is funny to you,” Flick says coolly, crossing their arms. “But what you just pulled back there? On the list of things that are not okay, that was _really_ not okay.”

Rhys has to agree with them on that one. That was _way_ too close of a call. Fiona’s just shaking her head though, waving a hand dismissively. “Not the first time I’ve ever been held at gunpoint, kid. I knew what I was doing.”

“It... really didn’t look like it, Fi,” Rhys cuts in. She looks up and squints at him, still trying to catch her breath. “What the hell were you even _thinking_? What could have been so valuable that you were willing to risk your life for it?”

“And ours,” Flick adds on.

She sighs deeply and then tries to clear her throat a few times, fishing around in her pocket for a moment before producing something and handing it out for Rhys to look at. It’s a square piece of metal small enough to fit in her palm, and although he can’t figure out what its exact function is supposed to be, it’s clear that this is some kind of computer component. A motherboard maybe?

“Are you serious?” It’s anyone’s guess what kind of face Flick is making under there, but judging from the tone in their voice, it can’t be anything good. “You nearly got your brain blasted out the back of your head over a piece of _junk_? Why? What’s the point? Just because you thought you could?”

Standing up straight again with a wince, Fiona shrugs and slips the... whatever that is back into her pocket. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

What the hell? There’s no way that’s it. There’s something else she’s not saying, there _has_ to be. Both Rhys and Flick just stare at her wordlessly for a few seconds until she throws her hands up. “What? Why are you two looking at me like that? Things didn’t go exactly according to plan, so what? We’re all fine, aren’t we?”

Flick rubs at their forehead with one hand, snorting humorlessly. “You couldn't have picked a worse person to try and steal from. And I gotta say, you’re probably one of the biggest hypocrites I’ve ever met.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“You figure it out,” they snap bitingly before spinning around to make their way back up towards the pass they all came through to get here.

Fiona scowls after them, turning to Rhys. “Can you believe that?”

“Uh, yeah, actually. I can.” Rhys trails after Flick, talking to Fiona over his shoulder. “I get that you’ve been thieving all your life, Fi, but you really need to learn how to keep your impulses in check-”

She grabs him by the arm before he can get very far, making sure Flick has disappeared down into the chasm before pulling out that stupid piece of metal again. “I was _lying_ , you dope. I didn’t swipe some useless chunk of scrap for kicks, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have let some ancient jackass paint the walls with my blood over it.”

“Then why-”

“Just,” she presses the component into his hand pointedly, “take a look at it.”

He already _did_ , but he might as well humor her. Rolling his eyes, he examines the board more closely. It looks relatively normal- though he still isn’t sure what it’s supposed to _do_ \- and he’s about ready to hand it back to her and brush the whole thing off as a symptom of her kleptomania but- wait a second. Is that...

“Eridium?” It’s hard to tell because it’s the _tiniest_ sliver suspended in a little glass dome, but if he tilts it the right way, it reflects back that giveaway purple color that can _only_ come from Eridium. He looks up at Fiona and gapes at her in astonishment. “This... Where did you find this?”

“In that old guy’s shop, just sitting in a box with a bunch of other techy stuff. But that one was the only one with Eridium in it.”

He shakes his head. This doesn’t make any sense. “I’ve never seen it used in electronics like this. I didn’t even know it was _possible_.”

“Me either. Weird, isn’t it? Flick didn’t seem surprised by it, though. _If_ that’s even their real name.”

Rhys blinks a few times, trying to figure out how they went from talking about Eridium to questioning the legitimacy of Flick’s name. “Okay, please don’t be mad, but you lost me again.”

She sighs, rolling her head to the side with a wince. “You didn’t notice? Keanu called them _Kele_. They’ve never mentioned that name to me before.”

“Maybe it’s some kind of nickname? A term of endearment?”

“I really don’t think so. Did anything about how they treated each other read as anything but antagonistic to you?”

He thinks about it for a second and then shrugs heavily. “Why does it matter?”

“It _matters_ because if they’re using a fake name, then how do we know we can trust anything else they’ve said?”

That’s... true. But what exactly would they have to gain from lying about that specifically? It’s not like he or Fiona are from around here, so if _Kele_ is some vicious serial killer known for taking in unsuspecting victims under the guise of helping them and _Flick_ is just their civilian identity, neither of them would be the wiser. Besides, who the hell would choose to call themselves Flick? It’s kind of a ridiculous thing to go by. There’s no way they willingly named themselves that.

“I think you’re just overanalyzing it, Fi. Besides, _this_ thing,” he holds up the Eridium-imbued motherboard, “is a little more concerning to me right now.”

“Yeah. I don’t know. You’re probably right.” Fiona holds her hand out for the component and he gives it to her after a second, the initial shock he felt bubbling back up again. He can’t even fathom how something like that was _made_ , let alone how it got here. It’s possible this planet has Eridium mining operations, but that would have to mean Vaults have been opened here before, right? They _do_ have a tendency to pop up wherever they damn well please across the entire universe, so maybe it’s not that out of the ordinary.

Still, it’s a little unsettling, although Rhys can’t put his finger on why. Maybe it’s because someone’s apparently figured out how to use Eridium in a way he hadn’t even thought of before. He’s not sure how that would affect technology, exactly, but he doesn’t really get the warm fuzzies about it.

Fiona’s already started to move towards the pass that Flick went through, and Rhys jogs to catch up with her.

“Alright, so I get why you wanted that... whatever the hell that thing is so bad now, but that still doesn’t change the fact that what happened back there was a total shitshow. I was so terrified that I very, very briefly lost control of my own bladder. Okay, not really,” he adds when she gives him a weird look over her shoulder, “but my point still stands. I was starting to think I was going to have to drag you back home in a body bag, and I don’t even want to _think_ about what Sasha would have done to me if that had happened.”

“Flayed you alive, probably,” Fiona says, completely ignoring everything else he just said, “and then she would have left you to the skags.”

“Yes, thank you. That’s exactly the kind of mental image I _didn’t_ want to have. But that’s really not the point here.” Rhys pauses for a moment, rubbing at his eyes. “Just... please don’t do that again. I get that needlessly throwing yourself into danger is your _thing_ and it wasn’t your first time at the rodeo or- or whatever, but I was... I was scared. For you. And also for myself. But mostly for you.”

She’s quiet for a minute or two as they squeeze their way down the ravine. Hopefully thinking about what he said and not just ignoring him. But eventually she turns to look at him with this _really_ confusing expression on her face that he can’t really make heads or tails of. “Yeah, well. Now you know how _I_ feel, don’t you?”

Now he knows how she feels? Feels about _what_? There’s about a million things she could be referring to with that so how is he supposed to figure out which one it is-

Wait just a goddamn second.

“Oh my god,” he laughs, shaking his head. She looks utterly taken aback until he manages to choke back his laughter long enough to say, “You were _worried_ about me.”

“What? No.” Her voice sounds off and she refuses to make eye contact now. Rhys thinks- not for the first time- that for someone who lies for a living, she can sometimes be _remarkably_ bad at lying. “I didn’t say that. I didn’t even imply it.”

“You didn’t have to say it,” Rhys says smugly. It took a while, but ohhh, he got her. Caught her red-handed, right in the act of actually _caring_ about him. “Your feelings are loud and clear.”

“My _feelings_?” she snorts incredulously. “I don’t have feelings. About anything, ever. And I especially don’t have feelings about _you_.”

Aw, it’s so cute how she actually thinks he’d buy into her shitty excuses after knowing each other for so long. He pats her on the shoulder sympathetically a few times before she shrugs him off. “It’s okay, Fi. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Oh, screw you,” she says, sounding a little embarrassed. “There’s no secret.”

There is almost definitely a secret, but Rhys doesn’t get a chance to press her any further into admitting it because a voice echoes loudly down the chasm, “Can you guys hurry _up_?”

“We’re working on it!” Rhys shouts back. Someone should really tell that kid that patience is a virtue. They pick up the pace a little, but there’s only so much they can do when they’re trying to wriggle through a space so small that even breathing is a challenge. But they make it after a lot of hard work and perseverance, and Flick immediately hops up from where they were squatting on the ground and drawing in the sand with a stick.

The rest of the trek back to the ruins is rather uneventful and boring- and also extremely tiring- although it does strike Rhys as a little odd that the sun is still so high in the sky after all this time. In fact, it barely looks like it’s moved at all, even though they must have been running around like this for hours now. He decides to ask about it once they reach the outskirts of the city- Ember, this place is called, according to Flick- and the kid just tilts their head in confusion.

“What do you mean? This cycle won’t be over for a few more days now,” they say, which makes Fiona shake her head.

“Right. I forgot to mention that. It never gets dark here,” she explains, but that... actually doesn’t explain anything at all. His befuddlement must still be obvious because she sighs and gestures at the sun. “Day and night- if you can call it that- last... what was it?”

“About a hundred and sixty-eight hours each.” Flick rattles off the number off the top of their head, which doesn’t mean anything to Rhys at first until he does the math.

“That’s... That’s an entire _week_ ,” he says in awe. “It stays light outside for a whole week?”

“And dark,” Flick adds. “But yeah. That reminds me...”

They trail off like they’re gathering their thoughts, but don’t wind up saying anything else.

“That reminds you...?” Rhys prompts them, which seems to stir them back to attention.

“I’ll explain when we get back. Come on, I’m dying to sit down.”

Well, he can’t argue with that. Neither can Fiona, who looks the worst out of the three of them. Every step looks so painful for her that Rhys has stopped to offer his shoulder again multiple times, but she keeps stubbornly refusing. Trying to traverse the incredibly windy avenues of the old city is the breaking point for her though, and for the rest of the journey back to Flick’s home, she leans heavily on him for support.

Once they’re inside, they both throw off their borrowed cloaks before Rhys leads Fiona over to where she’d been sleeping before. She unceremoniously slides to the floor with a sigh, carding a hand through her hair and holding her side with the other. Flick is griping about all the sand that got in while they were gone as Rhys moves back over to his spot and does the same thing Fiona did, feeling a _lot_ better now that he’s off his feet. These shoes were made more for fashion rather than comfort, and while they’ve never bothered him before, taking that long ass hike through the desert has made him seriously reconsider his future footwear purchases.

Flick does their thing where they shed their whole sinister revenant getup before taking a minute to look over Fiona. Her neck looks pretty bad, already starting to turn black and blue, but they quickly come to the conclusion that there isn’t any lasting damage which comes as a massive relief. They poke her left side a few times too, informing her that she should take it easy considering two of her ribs are cracked. Rhys gives her a look- _it looks worse than it is_ his ass- and she sticks her tongue out in response.

“Okay!” Flick says cheerfully after they’re done, finding their own spot to plop down. Once they’re comfortable, they drag over their backpack to start digging through its depths. “So here’s what’s next on the agenda.”

“There’s an agenda?” Rhys wonders before promptly being shushed.

“Of course there is. It’s called getting you two the heck off my planet.”

“Oooh. I like that agenda,” Fiona announces.

“Yeah, I kinda thought you would.” Flick unfolds the parchment in their hand and spreads it out on the floor. Rhys can’t see the details from here, but it looks like some sort of map. “I’m not going to lie to you, getting off-world isn’t going to be easy. The closest place that has consistent shuttles to Decima is... about...” They squint at their map for a few seconds, tracing a finger over a crease. “Forty days from here, depending on how fast you move.”

 _Forty_ days? That’s... way more than he was expecting. It’s over a month, and if everyone back home isn’t already freaking out at their disappearance, forty _more_ days is going to set them off into hysterics. Hell, it might even set _him_ off into hysterics. Rhys glances over at Fiona but she’s not taking the news any better if how wide her eyes are is anything to go by.

“Isn’t there any place closer?” she asks, tugging at the bandage on her hand.

“No,” Flick says quietly. “There isn’t. Fides is your only option for this. I’m sorry.”

Okay, that... sucks. A lot. More than anything else has sucked so far. Rhys rubs at his eyes, trying to wrap his head around forty goddamn days.

“Alright,” he says eventually after everyone has had a chance to stew with that depressing revelation for a little bit. “You said the shuttles go to Decima. Is that... another planet?”

“Yeah, it is,” Flick confirms. “A lot nicer than Nona is, so I’ve heard. Those who can afford to leave almost never come back.”

“That’s great and all, but how are we supposed to get back to Pandora from there?” Fiona asks, voicing exactly what Rhys was thinking.

Flick thinks for a few moments before shrugging heavily. “I dunno. As far as I’m aware, the station in Fides doesn’t connect to any other planets except Decima. But once you get there, you can pretty much go wherever you want. Whether you can travel to your planet directly is anyone’s guess, though. You might have to hop a few systems if it’s really that far away.”

The fact that they don’t know for certain is sooo not reassuring, but it’s all they’ve got at this point. Rhys heaves a sigh after a few moments, scratching at the back of his neck. “So how are we getting to this, uh, Fides?”

“We walk,” Flick answers simply, much to both Rhys and Fiona’s disdain. “There’s no other way. That’s what I meant when I said it wasn’t gonna be easy. It’ll be mostly desert for the first few days or so, so I hope you’ve made your peace with getting copious amounts of sand in your underwear.”

Oh, he hasn’t, not even a little bit. And he doesn’t think he ever will. “Have you been to this place before?”

“No, I’ve only ever gone as far as the mountains.” They turn the map around and slide it over towards Rhys so he can take a look. The markings are crude but he can make out what looks like a mountain range a good ways south from a dot he thinks is labeled Ember. He’s not sure though; this kid’s handwriting is atrocious. “There’s only one way through them that I’ve found. It’s called Killjoy Pass, and it just so happens to be crawling with bandits.”

Of course it is. No matter how far away from home they might be, some things never change. It’s Fiona’s turn to sigh in exasperation as she leans her head back against the wall.

“Why is it always bandits?” she wonders aloud. “Why can’t it be friendly old people or cute little puppies or literally anything other than _goddamn_ bandits?”

Before Rhys can even attempt to console her, something _meows_ to his left. Uh, okay. That’s definitely not a noise he was expecting to hear out here in the middle of nowhere. He turns his head and a tiny, orange cat is poking its head through the gap in the rock that leads outside, sniffing at the air cautiously.

Flick gasps and stands up immediately, rushing over to scoop the animal up into their arms.

“I haven’t seen you in _forever_!” they coo, scratching at its ears. Even from here, Rhys can hear it purring, and his nose starts to itch uncomfortably. “I wish you wouldn't scare me like that. I was starting to think the gawkies had gotten to you.”

This... is such a large shift in their attitude that Rhys doesn’t even know what to say. Fiona, on the other hand, is looking on with this soft, lopsided smile. “You have a cat?”

“He comes and goes. Lucky here is a bit free spirit,” Flick explains, planting a few kisses on the top of the cat’s head. “It’s been a while since he last paid a visit. Do you want to pet him?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Fiona blurts with no hesitation whatsoever. Flick moves to kneel down beside her and she immediately goes to town rubbing at the cat’s cheeks. It’s all very cute until she glances up and tries to beckon him over to join them. “Rhys, come pet the cat.”

Yeah, that’s not happening.

“I’m... good,” he says, hoping his strained tone is enough to get his point across. But Fiona- being the ornery, my-way-or-the-highway type she is- gathers the teeny thing into her arms and stomps over with it, stooping down to carefully place it on his lap.

The stupid thing doesn’t even care either, it just makes itself comfortable and starts kneading his leg. His eyes are burning now but Fiona taps her foot impatiently, apparently none the wiser to his ailment. She’s really going to make him pet the damn thing. Unbelievable.

Rhys raises a hand and pats it twice on the head, and yes, okay, it’s pretty adorable how it nuzzles against his palm when he does that.

“Nice cat,” he says, because it _is_ a nice cat, he just wishes it would be nice over _there_. “Please get it off me now.”

Fiona rolls her eyes but obliges, leaning over to retrieve the animal and take it back over to her spot. It left a bunch of fur on his pants and he tries to brush it off, but it’s pretty stuck on there. In fact, doing that just makes everything about a hundred times worse. His eyes are watering so bad that he can barely see and he sneezes three times in a row, only just barely holding back a fourth.

“Um.” Flick looks between him and that stupid cat a few times, rubbing the back of their neck. “Are you... allergic?”

“ _No_ ,” Rhys drawls sarcastically, or as sarcastically as he can when it sounds like he has a terrible head cold. “What could p-po... could pos-” And there’s that fourth sneeze. He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “What could _possibly_ make you think that?”

“The sneezing, mostly.”

“How observant of you.” He wipes at the tears accumulating in the corners of his eyes, sniffling pathetically. “I think it would have been fine if _someone_ hadn’t dropped the stupid thing in my lap, so thanks for that.”

He glares pointedly at Fiona, who’s too busy lavishing the cat with attention to even look up.

“You’re welcome,” she says absently, like she’s not even listening. He’s actually almost certain that she isn’t, but whatever. At least she’s keeping the damn thing over there now.

Flick watches her for a minute or two before standing back up and making their way over to Rhys. “I think Simona is a bit occupied with... petting my cat, but I want to go over the rest of this before I forget.”

Rhys shakes his head. “You're going to run out of rhymes eventually. You do know that, right?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” they say cheekily, pulling the map closer again. “Okay, so, about the pass. Killjoy itself used to be a prison, but a couple years ago, the prisoners managed to overrun all the guards and claim the place for themselves. None of the higher ups have ever done anything about it though, because it’s too far away from Fides for them to care.” They tap their chin thoughtfully, studying the map for a few moments. “The problem is that we have to actually go _through_ the prison to get to the other side of the pass.”

Oh, Rhys doesn’t like the sound of that.

“The prison that’s chock full of bandits?” he clarifies, and Flick nods once.

“That’s right.”

“Fantastic.”

“I always thought it was pretty poor space management myself, but other than the pass being treacherous and having to watch for falling rocks and also murderers, I _should_ be able to get you guys to the other side without too much of a problem. After that, it’s pretty much a straight shot to Fides.” They sit back on their heels, folding their hands in their lap. The way they say that makes it sound like they’re only planning on escorting them past the mountains.

“Will you... be coming with us? To Fides?” he asks, genuinely unsure of why he even cares. He guesses it’s because it’s still a pretty scary thought of being on a planet he doesn’t know anything about, but this wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to get his bearings in a completely unfamiliar place.

Flick hesitates for a second, fidgeting. “I don’t... No, I don’t think so. I can get you past the pass, but you probably won’t need my help after that.” They take a deep breath and let it out. “So, what do you think? All of that sound good to you?”

“Well,” Rhys sighs and tries to clear his throat a few times. “It, uh, sounds terrible, actually. Walking and bandits are like, my two least favorite things.”

“I really don’t blame you.”

“But if that’s what it takes to get us home...” He trails off, not really sure how to finish that sentence. He hasn’t been letting himself think about it too much, but homesickness is already starting to set in. He misses Vaughn, who’d probably know exactly what to say right now in order to cheer him up. He misses Sasha and hell, even August, sort of. Athena and Janey are going to get _married_ and they were all going to get together to celebrate, and now he’s not even sure if they’re going to be there for that. Cassius is back at the facility probably wondering where the hell he is, and he never got to ask Gortys and Loader Bot if they wanted to come help him out at work now that they’d opened the Vault.

He misses everybody so, _so_ much. They haven’t even been gone that long, but the fear that he might never be able to see any of them again is just... it’s shaking him. Right down to the core. He would do _anything_ to get back, and yeah, he really means that. Even if he has to walk for forty days straight and waltz through mountain passes filled to the brim with bandits. If that’s what it takes to get back home to his friends, his _family_ …

Then he’ll do it. He’ll probably complain a lot- no, scratch that, he definitely will- but he’ll still do it.

“So!” Rhys turns back to Flick with a motivated huff, nodding towards the map on the floor. “When do we leave?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead, I'm just very, very slow. This actually took a lot longer than I was expecting, so sorry for the wait!  
> Unfortunately, I can't really commit to a regular update schedule at this time, as sad as it is. I'm starting class soon so I will be a little busier than I'm used to. It'll probably be a little wonky until I get used to my new schedule, but if I disappear for another month, don't be surprised.  
> You'll have to rip this AU from my cold, dead hands though. We'll see how long I keep up this pretense of a slow burn, although from the word count of these three chapters alone, I'm sure it already qualifies. I can't even write short author's notes, just look at this mess. I apologize for my needlessly wordy ways, but I can almost guarantee it's not going to change any time soon. ^^


	4. Please Don't Shoot the Pianist

“ _Two_ days?” Fiona repeats incredulously, looking from Rhys to Flick and then back again. “You want us all to sit on our asses for two more days and do... nothing?”

“That’s the idea,” Flick answers before Rhys has a chance to, beckoning Lucky over from where he’s still laying in Fiona’s lap. He hops up, stretches slowly, and then trots over to their side, leaving her to try and blink away her disbelief at what may be the stupidest plan she’s ever heard.

And believe her, she’s no stranger to stupid plans.

“You realize that sounds insane, right?” she informs Rhys, pushing herself to her feet and brushing sand off the backs of her legs. “We’ve already wasted almost three days now because _you_ decided to slip into a coma as soon as we landed, and now you want us to sit around even longer? No way. I’m not doing that.”

Rhys sighs heavily, crossing one arm over his chest and bringing the other one up to rest his chin in his hand. “To be fair, the whole... zonking out for two days thing wasn’t really a voluntary decision on my part. And even if it was, that wouldn’t change the fact that this is the only way we’ll actually survive the trip.”

“What are you talking about? Why?”

Rhys looks to Flick and they shake their head wordlessly. What? What the hell is all that about? If she’s missing something important here, it’d be helpful if they would just tell her that instead of doing... whatever that is. Having some kind of uncomfortable eyeball conversation that she clearly isn’t meant to be a part of.

“ _Someone_ wasn’t paying attention,” Flick says pointedly as Lucky circles around a couple times and then sprawls lazily across their legs. “What, did you hear ‘wait until sundown’ and then immediately start ignoring everything else?”

What a dumb question. That’s exactly what happened.

“I’m just _saying_ ,” Fiona plants her hands on her hips with a huff, “that there’s no good reason why we should have to wait any longer than we already have-”

“There’s plenty of good reasons, actually,” Rhys interrupts.

“Care to share with the class, then?”

“You’re the only one who wasn’t listening,” Flick points out.

Scoffing, Fiona turns to kick a plume of sand off the floor in their direction. “Quiet. Nobody asked you.”

Rhys watches the exchange blankly for a moment before bringing a hand up to massage his temple and leaning his head back against the wall with a sigh. “Well, for starters, Fiona, nobody here is equipped to be running around in triple digit temperatures for more than a few hours at a time. It’s scorching outside, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh, what a load of crap.” Rolling her eyes, she shifts her weight from one foot to the other impatiently. “We made it to that oasis and back just fine, didn’t we?”

“We weren’t outside for all of that,” he says, sounding a little exasperated. “And it only took, what, maybe six hours? Plus we were in the shade most of the way, which makes a big difference.”

“And let me guess; the route to the pass won’t _be_ in the shade.”

Rhys nods slowly, crushing her hopes and dreams as delicately as he can manage, but Flick apparently finds it necessary to rub it in even more by saying, “We’d be in direct sunlight for over thirty hours. I suppose we _could_ leave now, if dying of exposure sounds like your idea of a fun time.”

No, she can’t really say that it does. She’s always imagined she’d go out with a bang, doing something cool like getting caught robbing some rich asshole’s mansion or plundering a Vault. Succumbing to heat stroke in the middle of nowhere on some desert shithole of a planet doesn’t even make the top ten ways she’s imagined her own death.

“What happens when the sun comes back up, then?” Fiona asks, leaning against the wall behind her. “You’re saying two days _now_ , but what happens when two days becomes a week, and week becomes a month, and on and on and on until we’ve gone way past the forty days it’s already going to take just to get _off_ this damn rock-”

“That’s not going to happen,” Rhys interrupts. “It’s just this once.”

She raises an eyebrow at that. “Oh, really?”

She waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t say anything else. She gives it a few more moments before giving up on trying to intimidate an explanation out of him and turning to Flick instead.

“We’ll be past Killjoy by the time dawn breaks again,” they tell her without preamble. “It’s far enough south that the heat won’t be as much of an issue.”

Oh, well. Isn’t that convenient. Also, why couldn’t Rhys have just said that? She opens her mouth to ask something else but Flick holds up a finger for her to wait. Slowly shifting underneath the cat on their lap, they grab the map they and Rhys had been pouring over before they’d thought it prudent to let Fiona in on the plan. Then they flip it around and slide it over towards her so she can take a look for herself.

Stooping down, Fiona flattens the paper out on the floor and attempts to make sense of what she’s supposed to be looking at. The markings aren’t very detailed, but they’re so calculated and precise that it isn’t immediately obvious that this thing is hand-drawn. It has a neatly labeled key and scale in the bottom corner and everything, which is pretty impressive. She’s seen mass produced maps of Pandora that are less helpful than this.

Flick has made notes here and there, but actually _reading_ those notes is a bit of a process. Fiona finds the dot she _thinks_ is labeled Ember- that ‘E’ might be a ‘K’, but then again ‘Kmber’ wouldn’t make a whole lot of sense- and sets to work locating where the mountains are in relation to it.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Flick jokes when they notice how hard she’s staring.

Scoffing, she tries to smooth out a crease in the paper. “I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t write like a goddamn first grader.”

Rhys pushes himself up to his feet and makes his way over to crouch right beside her.

“Here.” He directs her to a line of incomplete triangles a good ways south of Ember, and then points out two wavy lines weaving between them. “That’s the pass. It should only take about three days to get there from here.”

“What’s all this stuff after it, then?” She gestures towards the large space past the triangles- which must take up more than half the page- and then glances up at Flick. “I thought you said you’d never been past the mountains.”

They scratch at the back of their neck. “I haven’t. I’m not the one who mapped everything.”

“Then how do we know it’s accurate?” Fiona asks, leaning back on her heels.

They fidget with their shirt sleeve, keeping their expression carefully neutral. “It... used to belong to someone I knew. She traveled all around and no one had ever done a very good job of mapping the area before, so she did it herself. But I’ve been using that forever and it’s the only reason why I haven’t gotten hopelessly lost out here, so...” They shrug heavily. “I guess you’re just going to have to take my word for it.”

That’s... not really what she wanted to hear. Having to blindly put all her faith in this kid still makes her a little uneasy, but then again, it’s what she’s been doing since day one and nothing disastrous has happened as of yet. There’s not an overwhelming amount of evidence urging her to mistrust them at all, save for the hat situation and the questionable validity of their identity. And also the fact that they totally drugged her against her will just so they didn’t have to deal with her for a while.

To be fair though, she _was_ being pretty weird about the whole Elpis thing. A firm slap across the face to snap her out of it probably would have sufficed, but she can’t honestly say she wouldn’t have done the same thing they did if the tables had been turned.

Well, whatever. What’s the worst that could happen? Her and Rhys have already fought impossible odds up until this point and they’re both still alive and kicking. Worst case scenario, this really does turn out to be some elaborate scheme where the kid ditches them in the middle of nowhere and/or brutally murders them in their sleep. Although they’ve already had the chance to do that and they _didn’t_ , so. That has to mean something. Probably.

Fiona shakes her head at herself and leans over the map again. “Okay, so run me through the game plan one more time. We spend the next two days twiddling our thumbs like a bunch of jackasses, then three days to get to Killjoy, right?”

Flick obviously wants to make another jab about how she should have been listening in the first place, but wisely keeps their trap shut. Rhys, on the other hand, just hums an affirmative, because he’s not a total douchebag. Well, not all the time.

After squinting at Flick for a few seconds until they start to squirm, Fiona turns back to Rhys and the map. “Then what?”

“Assuming we even make it out of the bandit hole alive, the rest of the trip should be relatively simple.” Rhys indicates a large, open section on the map with little crosses marked throughout. “Flick says the steppes will probably still be pretty hot, but there’s more cover down there. If we wanted to play it safe, we _could_ wait out the midcycle, but-”

“We’re not doing that.”

Rhys purses his lips like he’s trying not to smile. “-but we’re not doing that, because if we don’t spend as much time as possible sweating our asses off, then have we really, _truly_ lived?”

She nudges his shoulder with her own appreciatively. “Exactly. You know, sometimes I think you’re the only one who gets me.”

He can’t bite back a grin this time, and it’s one of his goofy ones that she can’t help but return. Although everything about Rhys is goofy- or embarrassing, or just plain awkward- so why his dumb smiles are suddenly contagious is a bit of a mystery. She doesn’t know. Maybe she’s overthinking it.

Flick clears their throat after a few more seconds of her and Rhys silently staring at each other, which makes both of them look away real fast and pretend they’ve been studying the map this whole time. Eeeyup. _Definitely_ just overthinking it.

Rhys coughs stiffly, dropping from his crouch to sit all the way on the floor. Fiona’s calves are starting to cramp up from squatting for so long so she does the same as he readjusts the map and slides it to the side so they can focus on the portion past the mountains.

“These things here,” Rhys taps on one of the crosses that are scattered all over the place seemingly at random, “are safe places to stop along the way. Some supposedly have supply caches, but since it’s been a while since anyone has visited them, we probably shouldn’t rely on those. Our safest bet is stopping at what few towns there are along the way to make sure we don’t run out of what we need.”

Fiona glances up for confirmation from Flick, but all they offer is a stony nod. There seems to be a lot of those little markings though, so at least there’s that. Just how much did Flick’s, uh, friend? Or whatever, how much did she have to travel around to make all these anyway?

Rhys draws her attention to more open space past the steppes, which has a few more of those triangle markings that are probably supposed to represent mountains around the edges, and some lines that look somewhat like grass spread throughout.

“We’ll hit the grasslands last,” he says, before finally reaching a large circle that’s labeled in neat, capital letters. “And then Fides is just a couple thousand miles north of the south pole.”

It really doesn’t look that far on paper. Fiona takes a second to try and mentally figure out the distance using the scale at the bottom, and it turns out to be something around eight hundred miles if she didn’t completely screw it up. Which, okay, _is_ kind of a lot. Especially considering they’re going to have to walk the whole damn way.

Leaning back, Fiona lets out a heavy sigh. “I guess this is what we’re doing then.”

“So glad to have you on board,” Flick replies cheerfully, leaning over Lucky to the pluck the map off the floor and start folding it back up. “Not that it would have mattered if you weren’t, seeing that this is a democracy and everybody else here was in agreement except for you.”

Fiona makes a face. “Is it a democracy _all_ the time or just when one of us happens to be on the same side as you?”

“That is an excellent question,” they say as they stuff the map back into their bag before quickly occupying themselves with scratching Lucky behind his ears. Both her and Rhys wait for a minute or two, but Flick doesn’t say anything else and, in fact, seems to be completely ignoring them in favor of the cat now.

An excellent question, but not excellent enough to answer, apparently. Funny how that works.

So with everyone being on the same page and the matter of when to leave all squared away, the next two days are full of planning and preparation. Flick drafts up illegible lists of what they’ll need the most, counts out what they already have, and leads a hike all the way back over to Due East to get the rest. There’s more weird staring at their expense that the kid dutifully ignores, and they even stop by Keanu’s shop again to fix up some old walkie talkies that Flick had remembered they had sitting around gathering dust. Rhys and Fiona decide to hang around outside this time though, because the general consensus is Keanu would probably shoot both of them on sight after what happened the other day. A theory that’s only further supported when Flick comes hustling out after their business is done and immediately starts demanding to know _why_ exactly Fiona thought it was a good idea to give Keanu those broken ECHOs that he evidently has no idea how to fix.

It’s not a laughing matter. It really isn’t. But the thought of that smarmy old bastard thinking he had won that little dispute only to realize he got flimflammed the old fashioned Pandoran way is too hilarious for her _not_ to completely lose her shit over. Every time she thinks she’s done, the giggles bubble right back up. By the time they get back to Ember, her side hurts so bad she thinks she might actually die from it, and both Rhys and Flick look like they want to hit her upside the head with something large and heavy just so she’ll shut up for more than five seconds.

Mostly though, they wait for the sun to go down. It’s no surprise that there’s not a whole hell of a lot to do out here in the middle of nowhere, and how her and Rhys manage to _not_ kill each other in their boredom is anyone’s guess. They get close, granted, so dangerously close that Fiona briefly considers leaving on her own before the sheer stupidity of the notion begins to occur to her. Because for one, getting to Fides by herself would probably be nigh impossible. Few landmarks plus her nonexistent environmental awareness equals getting lost and dying alone in the middle of the desert like a loser. Fiona is a lot of things- not all of them _good_ things, she’ll readily admit- but she’s definitely not a loser.

More importantly though, leaving Rhys behind has never been a viable option, even from the start. She’s already lost him once- what with that whole mess after Helios crashed- and she’s not exactly itching to go through that again. Coming to the realization that she actually _missed_ the jerk was disconcerting enough the first time.

Not that she ever plans on telling him about that. There’s some things he’s better off just being completely unaware of. For his own good.

By the time twilight rolls around, Fiona is so antsy and raring to go that she physically could not sit down even if she wanted to. Flick is recounting the rations for the billionth time, while Rhys is content to watch Fiona pace the room with wild abandon. At one point, he opens his mouth like he intends to comment on it, before shaking his head at himself- or maybe at her- and then closing it again with a sigh.

Finally- _finally_ \- Flick seems satisfied that they have enough of what they need and starts tucking things away in their backpack. It doesn’t all fit, so they pull another bag from one of the various mountains of junk scattered across the floor and stores the rest of the provisions away before setting both packs at their feet.

“Okay,” they say after a moment, looking up to address both Rhys and Fiona. “Everybody ready?”

“What kind of question is that?” Fiona grumbles as Rhys pushes himself up to stand beside her. “We’ve _been_ ready. You’re the only one we were waiting on.”

Rhys makes a vague noise of agreement, to which Flick only rolls their eyes. They get their bags situated on their shoulders, wrap themselves up in their cloak thingy, and start reaching for their scarf before stopping themselves mid-grab.

“Oh!” they exclaim, as if suddenly remembering something. “I almost forgot.”

Fiona and Rhys groan in unison as the kid ambles over to the table in the corner, but they wave a hand at both of them dismissively, quickly retrieving the three palm-sized radios they had repaired from behind a stack of thickly bound books that have seen better days.

“I had to pay Keanu twice the normal rate to fix these because of that stunt you pulled,” they say with a pointed glare, holding out the walkies with one hand. “So you’re going to use them whether you like it or not.”

Fiona almost snorts but covers it up with a cough at the last second, rolling her shoulder inconspicuously. “You know, the living fossil had a point. It _was_ kind of your fault for bringing us there in the first place.”

Rhys tuts at her. “That’s no way to talk about the elderly, Fiona.”

“Yeah, well. He was an asshole. Probably senile too, with how itchy his trigger finger was.”

Flick sighs, rubbing at their forehead with their free hand. “Keanu’s not _senile_ , okay? He just has... issues. I think someone killed his dog or something. I don’t know.”

“But _I_ didn’t kill his dog,” Fiona points out.

“No, you just tried to steal from him,” they say flatly. “Anyway, are you going to take these? My arm is getting tired.”

Fiona looks to Rhys but all he offers is a shrug. She guesses they might as well; better to have some kind of backup plan in case they get separated or something. Fiona reaches up to grab one but Flick makes this weird noise as her hand hovers over it, jerking their head to the side until she moves to take a different one instead. Uh, okay. She’s not sure why it matters, since they all look identical except for the colorful stickers decorating the fronts and backs. Hers has a bunch of glittery lightning bolts, while the one Flick takes for themselves is covered in grossly realistic beetles. The only one left is for Rhys, and it looks like it’s… completely plastered with adorable cartoon cats.

Oh. Oooh. She sees what’s going on here. She sees it and she wholeheartedly approves.

Rhys’ jaw tightens just the tiniest bit when he notices, and he glances up at Flick, clearly distressed. “I don’t want that one.”

“It’s the only one left,” they tell him, looking convincingly innocent.

He lets out a long, drawn-out sigh, taking the radio and inspecting it with distaste. After a moment, he turns to Fiona with a pleading look. “Trade with me.”

“No,” she refuses, clutching her walkie to her chest. “I like mine. It’s sparkly.”

“ _Please_ , Fi. I really don’t want the cat one.”

“Are you five? They’re just stickers.”

“Exactly, so it really shouldn’t matter if we did a little swaparooney, right? A good ol’ switcharoo?”

He thinks she doesn’t notice him edging closer as she’s clipping her radio onto her belt. When he makes a grab for it, she steps out of his reach, causing him to nearly lose his balance and fall flat on his face.

“ _Dammit_ , Fiona. Please don’t do this to me.”

“Dammit, Rhys!” she parrots back at him, sticking her tongue out. “Stay away from my radio, weirdo.”

“Are you two finished?” Flick cuts in as they wrap their scarf into place around their neck.

Neither one of them answer. Fiona breezes past Flick towards the gap in the wall to wait for everybody outside, and she doesn’t think she’s ever seen Rhys look so betrayed.

It’s cooler now that the sun has started to sink below the horizon, making for a much more pleasant walk through the ruins. The buildings cast a lot of the ground in shadow, making it even more difficult to navigate this place without tripping over the remains of whatever was here before. Flick doesn’t seem to be bothered by the lack of light however, and keeps trudging forward with confidence, leading the way out of the ruined city and into the desert proper.

When they make it to the passage to the gorge, the kid whirls around and squints up at both of them, holding a hand up to shield their eyes from the lingering rays of the setting sun.

“You guys want to see something neat?”

“Nope,” Fiona says.

“Not really,” Rhys adds on.

“Oh, come on. Just turn around, it’ll take two seconds.”

Right. Like neither one of them has ever seen a sunset before. But it’ll probably be faster to play along rather than try to argue against it, so. Rhys must be thinking the same thing, because he shakes his head and peeks briefly over his shoulder, only to do a double take and then turn all the way around.

“Huh,” he muses, sounding exceptionally thoughtful. What, it can’t be that good, can it?

Fiona spins around too, suddenly immensely curious.

Oh. Damn.

The silhouette of the ruins in the distance are stark black against the fiery tones in the sky, making for a stunning contrast that would have been remarkable enough by itself. But there’s something _odd_ about the space surrounding the city, the colors in the clouds shifting and blending and swirling into each other to create this illusion that the entire city is aflame.

Which it isn’t. It can’t be. There’s no smoke, there’s no _smell_ , and she’s pretty sure she would have noticed if it was burning down considering they were just there. But that’s what it looks like all the same.

Flick sidles up right beside her and Rhys as they continue staring at it, looking way more smug than they ought to. “Told you.”

“What _is_ that?” Rhys wonders, clearly in awe. “Some kind of aurora?”

“I’m... not entirely sure. We don’t usually get auroras this far north, but I don’t know what else it could be. It’s like clockwork though- every cycle, right at dusk, without fail.”

“Weird,” Fiona says, studying the way the light ripples around itself. “Neat, but definitely weird.”

They all watch it for a few more moments in silence. It certainly _looks_ like an aurora, but it sits much lower in the sky than the other ones she’s seen before, almost like it’s sinking between the buildings. There’s no way that’s natural.

“This is how I found this place, actually,” Flick eventually speaks up again. “You can see it from the gorge. It was almost completely dark then though, so it looked like it was all in embers.”

Something clicks in Fiona’s head.

“Ember,” she guesses, turning to them with a raised eyebrow. “That’s how you got the name. Very clever.”

They shrug as they turn back around to start leading them through the pass now that everyone’s had a nice long look at the creepy lights in the sky. “What can I say? I was inspired.”

Her sarcasm must have flown over their head, or actually, it’s more likely that they’re just ignoring it. She probably would too if she was that embarrassingly bad at naming things.

The three of them hike their way down the canyon and soon emerge back into the gorge. Instead of heading to the opposite side towards Due East, Flick immediately turns south to follow the line of the valley. They stay close to the cliff wall where the ground is relatively flatter which Fiona is grateful for, though it does little to ease her discomfort. She struggles with her gait for a while before giving up and resigning herself to a pitiful limp, and while it does slow their pace slightly, no one feels inclined to comment.

They continue on like this for what feels like ages. The walk itself is physically excruciating, but it’s the _boredom_ that nearly does her in. Flick suggests playing I-Spy- which gets old fast for obvious reasons- and trying to talk to them normally leaves her more frustrated than anything else. This would have been an excellent opportunity to learn more about the planet and about Flick themselves, but their way of answering things is almost unbearably abstruse, so she winds up way more confused than she was to start with. Even Rhys seems lost, and he’s usually the one that already has the answer while everybody else is still trying to connect Point A to Point B.

The hours tick by so slowly that Fiona can hardly stand it. By the time Flick announces that they should make camp for the night, she’s practically dragging herself along, and every breath is accompanied by a shooting pain up her side. She almost collapses in relief when they finally come across a large overhang along the cliff face that’s semi-sheltered from the wind, and Rhys is only barely able to catch her before helping her slide down to sit on the ground. Flick makes sure she’s not in danger of heaving her last before walking off to go scavenge together something to start a fire with.

“You don’t have to push yourself so hard, you know,” Rhys says as he takes a seat beside her, pulling off both of his shoes in turn to dump a truly impressive amount of sand out of each of them. “If we need to go slower-“

“We don’t need to go slower,” Fiona interrupts, trying to find a way to stretch out the stiffness in her back that doesn’t also make it feel like someone’s stuck a knife between her ribs. “I’ll be fine, as long as I don’t move the wrong way. Or breathe too deeply.”

Rhys doesn’t look even remotely convinced.

“I’m worried about you,” he tells her plainly, and when she looks to him in surprise, she swears the tips of his ears start turning pink.

Oh. Well.

What the hell does he expect her to say to _that_?

Fiona looks down at her hands in her lap, picking at the polish on her nails. It would be easy to brush him off, to tell him he’s being stupid and to mind his own damn business. But... no, he doesn’t deserve that. Especially not after all the crap she gave him about what happened in the Vault. If he can’t help having a shitty survival instinct, then he certainly won’t be able to help uselessly worrying about her.

Sighing, Fiona carefully leans back against the rock wall behind her. “Rhys, I... You don’t have to do that. I can look after myself. I don’t need you sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong and trying to do it for me, okay? I think I’ve got it covered.”

That... came out more aggressive than she wanted it to. Maybe it’s the pain in her side making her a grump, or maybe deep down she really is that big of an asshole. Either way, she doesn’t miss the flash of hurt across Rhys’ face that he quickly covers up by breaking eye contact to stare straight ahead of him. Little pinpricks of regret nip at her heart.

“That’s not what I’m trying to do,” he says quietly after a moment.

“I... I know.” She leans forward, trying to catch his gaze again. “I wasn’t- I didn’t really mean-” She shakes her head at herself. “...I’m sorry. About that and... about a lot of other things too.” Rhys glances back at her with a questioning look and she waves a hand vaguely. “You know, the whole... Vault thing.”

He nods knowingly. “Ah.”

“And... you were right, just for the record. About me being worried. I was scared about what was going to happen to you, and that plus every other shitty thing that’s been thrown at us since we opened the Vault was just- _I_ was just-” She pushes her bangs out of her face and pulls her knees up to her chest. “I was angry. I still am, but not at you. It was never really at you. So what I’m trying to say is... I’m sorry.”

He smiles at that, but not unkindly. It’s softer- not smug like she half expected it to be. More... wistful. “I know, Fi. It’s okay.”

It really isn’t, at least not to her, but when she opens her mouth to say that, nothing comes out. He’s watching her with this strange look that she thinks she’s seen before but can’t quite place. It feels familiar though, so achingly familiar that the acute need to be close to him strikes so hard and so suddenly that she’s scooting over before her brain even gives the rest of her the express permission to do so. But once she’s right up beside him with her head resting on his shoulder, moving away is the last thing on her mind. It’s not exactly _comfortable_ , but he’s so warm and soft that relaxing into him is as simple as breathing.

“You know, I don’t think I’m cut out for this whole Vault hunting gig,” Rhys eventually says after they’ve sat in silence for a while, leaning his cheek against the top of her head. “High stress situations aren’t really my thing.”

“High stre-” Fiona starts incredulously before cutting herself off with a snort. “You’re the CEO of an enormous megacorporation, Rhys. You can’t honestly tell me _that_ isn’t stressful.”

He makes a contemplative noise, shifting his arm behind her back so he can pull her just the tiniest bit closer. “Different kind of stress. And a lot less, uh, physically demanding.”

“Right, of course.” She pats him on the chest sympathetically. “Being in danger of tearing a cuticle or sweating through your pretty silk shirt is _much_ more nerve-wracking than rebuilding an entire company basically from scratch.”

“Okay, first of all, my shirt isn’t silk. It’s a cotton blend and it’s very comfortable, thank you very much,” he corrects her, although he sounds more amused than defensive.

“Oh, well _excuuuse_ me.”

“You’re excused.”

Huffing, Fiona disentangles herself enough so she can look up at him with a scoff. “It’s still ugly no matter what it’s made of. I hope you know that.”

“Oooh, ouch,” Rhys laughs. “You _wound_ me, Fiona.”

“Your ego will be fine. Your sense of style, on the other hand...” She makes an _eh_ sound, shrugging.

Rhys gives her a flat look that would probably be way more effective if he wasn’t still grinning like an idiot. “You talk a lot of smack for someone who looks like she got dressed in the dark.”

“You’re projecting. That’s cute.”

“Am I?” he wonders, tapping his chin with one finger to put on a convincing show of thoughtfulness. “I don’t know about that. I mean, I think I get what you were going for, but the whole asymmetry thing doesn’t suit everybody.”

She blinks at him a few times doubtfully. “Oh _sure_ , yeah, okay. I’ll really take that to heart since it’s coming from you, Mister Stripes-On-One-Side. Which, believe it or not, doesn’t suit anybody.”

“Hey,” he says softly, acting all mock offended. “I happen to like stripes.”

“But only on one side? Really?”

“Both sides would be too busy,” he asserts, “while neither would just be boring. Stripes on one side gives the impression of innovativeness without taking away from the rest of the ensemble. It’s an original take on a classic fashion choice.”

She genuinely can’t tell if he’s being serious. She desperately hopes not, but the chances that his entire wardrobe being aesthetically unbalanced is purely an ironic statement are probably slim to none.

Also, he just used a _lot_ of big words to justify his poor style decisions. Almost like he’s rehearsed it. Either that or he’s had to defend himself about this subject before.

Fiona opens her mouth to ask if he has to get all his pants specially made to be partially striped, but before she can even get the first word out, something _howls_ so close by that both her and Rhys immediately jump to their feet.

Her Roshambo is in her hands in a heartbeat, and she creeps closer to the edge of the overhang. The sound reverberates off the walls of the gorge, long and deep and inhuman. It’s impossible to tell which direction it originally came from, so Fiona isn’t sure which way she needs to be looking.

“What was _that_?” she asks rhetorically once the sound stops, scanning the horizon for any movement.

“I have no idea,” Rhys answers anyway as he trails after her. He takes small steps, preoccupied by patting himself down for... something. “Where the hell did I put-”

Something rounds the corner and smacks right into Fiona, causing her to stumble back. She’s about half a second away from just shooting at it on instinct before suddenly realizing that it’s not a some _thing_ at all- it’s a some _one_.

“Whoa, hey, it’s just me!” Flick exclaims when they peek out from around the huge pile of sticks and branches in their arms only to see Fiona waving a gun around in their face. “Can you watch where you’re pointing that? Maybe aim it a little lower? Or anywhere that’s not right at my head would be great.”

All the tension leaves her body at once. Goddammit. They _really_ need to stop sneaking up like that. She backs off but doesn’t holster her gun just yet, because whatever made that freaky yowl is still out there.

“Did you hear that sound?” she asks them as they heft up the load in their arms and move around her to dump it near the center of the clearing. Where the hell did they even get all that? Fiona peers out into the night again to see if she somehow missed an entire thicket of plantlife filled to the brim with kindling but nope, there’s nothing out there. Not even like, a single cactus or anything.

Flick starts digging out a pit in the sand for the fire. “Did I hear what sound?”

Rhys is still pawing through all his pockets for whatever it is that he’s looking for, but takes the time to share a look of disbelief with Fiona. “Seriously? You really didn’t hear that- that super creepy noise just now? It was like a howl? Or something?”

“Oh, that. You don’t have to worry about it,” Flick assures them. “Those were just howlcotes.”

“Howl _whats_?” Fiona repeats, bewildered.

Flick sits back on their heels with a sigh, spinning around to address both of them properly. “Howlcotes. They’re kinda like... really big, carnivorous dogs. If dogs were mostly hairless and had three rows of teeth.”

“Lovely,” Rhys mutters as he checks his inside coat pockets again. “Just what I’ve always wanted. A butt ugly dog that wants to eat me.”

“So, a skag,” Fiona summarizes.

“I’ve never seen a skag before,” Flick says. “So... maybe? They’re usually pretty docile around people, if that helps.”

Okay, so not like a skag at all.

Just then, another wail echoes its way down the canyon, startling both her and Rhys. Three more join it soon after and they all yowl along in unison, putting Fiona on edge. They sound so goddamn _close_ that her body is throwing out danger signals left and right; adrenaline pumping, blood pressure spiking through the roof, the whole nine yards.

Flick ignores the cacophony, turning their attention back to the fire. “They _can_ be aggressive though, if they’re hungry enough.”

“What’s the chance that _those_ ones are hungry enough?” Fiona inquires, still gripping her Roshambo so tightly that her knuckles are turning white.

Flick shrugs after a moment. “Dunno. But they can smell fear.”

When nobody says anything to that, Flick spares a glimpse over their shoulder to find both her and Rhys staring at them in distress. “Oh, come on. I was _kidding_. Would you two relax? They won’t bother us, I promise.”

The kid obviously knows this place better than either of them, but that still doesn’t stop Fiona from tensing up when those things start yelping again. It takes a while for her to calm down enough to step back under the overhang and put her Roshambo away, but even then, she can’t force herself to sit down for a while.

“Okay, has anyone seen my stun baton?” Rhys finally asks after about the twentieth time he’s patted himself over. “I could have sworn I had it on me before we...”

He trails off, looking to Fiona, who only shakes her head. _That’s_ what he’s looking for? She can’t believe he still carries that thing around. Don’t get her wrong, it’s neat and all, but pretty impractical in most situations unless he can actually get close enough to use it.

After a few moments of strangely awkward silence, both she and Rhys peer over at Flick. They’re sitting cross legged by the fire, elbows on their knees and fingers steepled together in front of their mouth. Their expression is one of deliberately artificial naiveté, painting the perfect picture of guilt.

Rhys marches over with an air of purpose, holding his hand out expectantly. “Give it.”

They raise their eyebrows at him, going wide-eyed. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be a little more specific. I’m a natural collector; I’ve come across many interesting and valuable things in my lifetime. How could you possibly expect me to know which one happened to be yours?”

“If by ‘come across’ you mean ‘stolen or appropriated’ then I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that’s not collecting. That’s just illegal.” Rhys crosses his arms, clearly unamused.

Flick leans around his legs to make a funny face at Fiona. “The irony with this guy, am I right?”

Sighing, Rhys brings up a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. “Just... Cut the crap. Please. Give it back.”

The kid considers him for a second before reaching over to pull one of their bags closer. They root around in it for a moment before producing the missing stun baton, but before he can take it, Flick holds up a finger.

“What are you prepared to offer me for it?”

Rhys blinks a few times. “Excuse me?”

“I accept things of equal or greater value,” they clarify, twirling the baton around their fingers. “Cash is also an option. Surely, you don’t expect me to give it away for free?”

“I- Yes, actually? I do? Because it’s mine?” He casts a desperate glance over his shoulder. “Fi?”

She shakes her head slowly. It’s cute that he thinks she can do anything about this. As if the damn kid isn’t still holding her hat hostage.

After a minute of those two staring at each other, Flick shrugs. “Let’s just say you owe me a favor.”

“Great. Fine. Can I have it back now?”

“Once I cash in that favor, sure,” they tell him as they drop the baton back into their bag, looking very satisfied with themselves. “If I don’t keep it, how do I know you’ll hold up your end of the bargain?”

“I- But you-”

They pull a double finger gun on him. “Thanks for playing.”

Things start winding down more after that, although Rhys doesn’t stop pouting for a good half hour. Believe her, she knows the feeling. The kid passes around small baggies of food for dinner, which is really nothing more than dried fruit and a handful of inedible looking nuts. But at the very least, the stuff is filling.

Flick claims first watch and Fiona volunteers for second, leaving Rhys to take third which he’s all too happy to comply with. He’s out like a light almost as soon as he sprawls out on the ground, but for Fiona, sleep is a little harder to find. Partially because those stupid howling dog things won’t shut the hell up, but also for other more... sentimental reasons.

She looks up to the sky, darker now than it was when they left Ember, and searches the stars for something comforting, something _familiar_ , but comes up hopelessly empty. Sasha had memorized all the constellations when they were kids, always pointing out distant planets and planning for the day things would finally fall into place so they could leave Pandora for good. If even _some_ of these stars are the same as the ones they can see from back home, Sasha would know.

What Fiona wouldn’t give for her to be here.

Actually, no, screw that, what she wouldn’t give to just be _home_. She had a good run, but if this is what Vault hunting is like- all pain and misery and loneliness- then she’s going to have to have a nice, long think about her career options.

Fiona glances over at where Rhys is snoring appallingly by the fire. Well, it could be lonelier, she supposes. But the pain and misery thing still applies.

At some point, exhaustion must take over, because the next thing she knows, she’s waking up to sand in her mouth and something digging into her cheek. Something that feels suspiciously like Flick’s index finger.

“Rise and shiiine,” they say in a singsong voice as they continue jabbing her right in the jaw instead of just shaking her by the shoulder or something. Like any normal person would have done. “It’s your turn to take watch.”

“I hardly slept,” Fiona complains as she rolls onto her back with a grunt, swatting their hands away.

“Not my problem,” they reply cheerfully, sitting back to watch her slowly push herself up. “But you should say something next time. I make a mean sleeping draught. I once kept a lady under for two whole weeks.”

It doesn’t seem to occur to them that there’s something weird about what they just said until Fiona stares at them for an uncomfortable length of time.

“She had really bad burns,” they finally elaborate, and when her expression doesn’t change, they continue, “I wouldn’t do that to you. Unless you also had really bad burns.”

That only makes her feel better by a very, _very_ small margin.

The rest of the night passes uneventfully. She dozes off a few times during her watch, though the howlcotes make sure she doesn’t get _too_ much shut-eye. By the time she’s supposed to switch with Rhys, she feels dead on her feet. Unconsciousness takes over almost as soon as she’s in a remotely supine position, but her sleep is fitful and sporadic. She dreams, she thinks, about something painful, something heavy and dark and sad.

But when she wakes up- this time to Rhys gently rousing her with soft words and softer smiles- she can’t remember what it was. All that lingers is the bitter sense of loss.

They walk all day again, and it’s weird to think of it that way considering it only grows darker and darker with each passing hour. Soon, the only sources of light are the stars and the two tiny moons hanging in the sky, both of which are pitiful compared to Elpis. What heat was left from the sun quickly evaporates into the brisk night air. When a breeze kicks up, Flick stops to dig around in one of their bags before offering her and Rhys the same cloaks they had borrowed before. They’re thin and flimsy and hardly anything resembling windproof, but the chill isn’t quite as harsh as it was without them, so she appreciates the sentiment. Even if she will probably wind up with a cold by the time this is all over.

At one point, the gorge opens up in front of them to a wide stretch of desert that doesn’t seem to have any bounds. The terrain becomes more uneven as they trudge on, and try as she might, Fiona just can’t keep the same pace they had going before. The trio maneuvers around the best they can- avoiding the steepest of inclines and going downhill whenever possible- but after a while, every step starts feeling impossibly difficult.

“I don’t think I can keep going,” Fiona eventually wheezes out, clutching a fist to her side. They’re right smack in the middle of absolute nowhere, but if she keeps walking, she thinks she might actually die.

Flick glimpses back at her and then does a double take, stopping in their tracks. “How bad is it?”

“It’s _killing_ me,” she coughs as she bends over a little and twists experimentally. Rhys looks on worriedly, ready to catch her if she falls.

“Rate the pain,” Flick says as they walk back over.

She tilts her head back up to squint at them.

“Uh, four stars? Two enthusi- _ah_ -stic thumbs up?” A cramp runs up the entire length of her side and she’s only barely able to bite back a shout. “ _Ow_ , goddammit.”

Flick rolls their eyes, coming up right next to her and smacking her hand out of the way to poke and prod at her ribs. “I meant on a numerical scale, genius. Like one to ten.”

“Twelve and a half,” she answers automatically, wincing when they press up against a particularly sensitive spot.

They take a step back once they’re appeased, leveling her with a chastising glare. “We should have stopped ages ago if you’re feeling that bad. If you keep pushing yourself like this-”

Fiona waves a hand dismissively. God, they’re starting to sound like Rhys. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll wind up breaking something beyond repair or whatever. Just take me somewhere so I can sit down.”

The kid scowls at her for a minute longer before spinning around on their heel with a huff. “There should be a small oasis around here. Keep your eyes peeled for it.”

“How are we supposed to see anything when it’s this dark?” Rhys asks as he moves forward to help support some of Fiona’s weight.

“Trust me,” Flick says over their shoulder. “You can’t miss it.”

It’s slow going, but eventually they crest a dune high enough to see past most of the hills that would normally block their view. And there, about half a mile or so in front of them, is the oasis that Flick was talking about. Fiona thinks she’s hallucinating at first, but everybody else apparently sees it too.

Which is comforting, considering the whole damn thing is aglow.

Everything- the water, the plants crowding the banks- all of it gives off its own light. It reminds her of the Atlas bio-dome facility back on Pandora; the blues and greens and purples all melding into each other to create a spotlight of color in the otherwise pitch-black landscape.

“Wow,” Rhys breathes beside her in awe.

She totally and irrevocably agrees with that statement. Even if it does feel like she’s about to keel over any second.

Flick leads them steadily towards the oasis, constantly checking to make sure she and Rhys aren’t falling behind. Once they get closer to it, they scout ahead to find a decent spot to make camp. They double back to lead her and Rhys to a small grove near the shore. It’s surrounded by bushes with large, blooming flowers and tall trees that are weighed down heavily by vines. Not everything is bioluminescent like it appeared to be from a distance; mostly just the blooming plants and oddly shaped mushrooms sprouting near the bases of the tree trunks.

“Are all the oases like this?” Rhys asks as Flick moves towards the water to refill some of the empty canteens they’ve accrued over the last few days. They take care to avoid collecting any of the glowing algae into the containers, and walk back over once they’re finished.

“You mean all bright and cheerful?” They keep the newly refilled canteens separate from the clean ones so they can boil the water later, and then move towards the foliage to start collecting firewood. “All the ones I’ve seen have been. The whole planet used to be like this, in fact. Or so I’ve been told.”

Wait a minute. Back up.

“Are you saying this place hasn’t always been a backwash desert wasteland?” Fiona finds a comfy looking rock to sit up against and plops herself down, which does _wonders_ for the terrible ache in her side. Rhys doesn’t sit yet, instead drifting over to help Flick find suitably flammable sticks for the fire.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Flick answers.

“That doesn’t make sense. What could be powerful enough to change an entire planet’s ecosystem?”

“The Big Bad,” they say simply, like that’s supposed to mean something.

Rhys and Fiona give them a few moments, but they don’t seem to be planning on finishing that sentence.

“The big bad _what_?” Rhys finally prompts them, to which they shake their head.

“Nothing. That’s it. It’s just The Big Bad.”

“What... does that mean, exactly?” Fiona inquires slowly.

The kid is quiet for a while, and she wonders briefly if asking about it struck a nerve. But then they turn back around with a sigh, tossing what wood they’ve gathered so far towards the center of the clearing.

“It was some kind of... natural disaster. I guess that’s the easiest way to explain it, but it was a lot more than that. There was a geomagnetic disturbance, a big one. I’m not sure about the details. I wasn’t born yet when it happened and it’s not something a lot of people like talking about. All I really know is that almost the whole planet turned into one big sandbox pretty much overnight. There were no warning signs. No one saw it coming.” They take a deep breath and let it out slowly before continuing, “Infrastructure collapsed, cities were cut off from one another, blah blah blah. Millions of people died, you know the drill.”

Oh. Well. That’s... depressing. But maybe that does explain those spooky ruins the kid lives in. If this planet was covered in bioluminescent forests at some point instead of unending sand in every direction, it would make sense that there would be evidence of the cities that were built during that time. Old civilizations that fell to tragedy would be buried, while those who survived would rebuild elsewhere in places more habitable.

She wonders just how many graves she’s walked on since she got here.

Eugh, no, she doesn’t want to think about it. Creepy. Creepy thought.

“But what could _cause_ something like that?” Rhys questions them further, adding his own kindling to the pile before taking a seat next to Fiona.

There’s a pause. “...There were lots of theories, in the beginning.”

“Such as?”

They shrug vaguely, not saying anything else. Whether they’re hiding something or are just uncomfortable talking about it, Fiona can’t say for sure.

“How long ago did this happen?” she asks instead. It’s probably insensitive, but this is the most the kid has ever indulged in their prying questions, so damn if she isn’t going to take advantage of it.

Flick digs a lighter out of their pocket and carefully holds it to the small mass of twigs and branches until the flame spreads evenly throughout.

“Forty-three years,” they eventually answer, sitting back to admire their handiwork. “Almost to the day.”

“So by the time you were born...”

They huff, obviously getting impatient. “Yeah, I didn’t live through the aftermath. Not directly. But twenty years isn’t such a long time to recover from total societal collapse. There were aftershocks, even then. There still are, just... not physical ones.”

Fiona takes a peek over at Rhys but he’s too deep in thought to notice. “You said this whole thing is called ‘The Big Bad’?”

Flick nods once. “That’s right.”

“Any particular reason why it’s called that, or...” He trails off and when they fix him with a scowl, he keeps going. “I mean, it’s, uh, an interesting name. Ominous, if a little grammatically challenged.”

“Why do you _think_ it’s called that? It was big and it was bad.”

“Right.” Rhys nods in fake understanding. “Of course. Makes sense. When in doubt, go with the simplest option, right?”

Flick sighs heavily. “Look, I didn’t name it, but it fits. And it’s better than what those three-piecers down in Fides call it, at any rate.”

“Lay it on me.”

They snort without a ton of humor, leaning back on their palms. “The Tabula Rasa.”

Rhys blinks a few times before making an expression of distaste. “A... blank slate?” Fiona gives him a weird look and he shrugs. “What? I took Latin in college.”

“Everybody knows what that phrase means, Rhys,” she tells him flatly. “I was just wondering why you felt the need to say it out loud.”

“Well- I just- I mean, it’s kind of...”

“Pretentious? Disrespectful? Sickening?” Flick suggests, nearly spitting out of spite. “Yeah, I’m not a fan of it either. Half of Nona’s population died and those twits at Orcus want everybody to think of it as some kind of phoenix phenomenon.”

 _Orcus_. Now there’s a name they haven’t mentioned before. From the connotations of what they said though, it can’t be anything good. She doesn’t think she’s heard them speak so bitterly about anything else, with the exception of pretty much their entire interaction with that old asshole, Keanu.

They look like they want to say more about it but are holding back, and Fiona takes that as a cue to stop pushing. They’ve given her a lot to think about- a couple more pieces to the puzzle- and though the big picture here is still out of focus, the fact that they actually gave her something _new_ is enough to sate her curiosity for now.

She exchanges a pointed look with Rhys so he knows to take a step back too. Flick gets up after a few minutes and passes out rations again before moving towards the shore of the oasis to brood over their dinner alone. This new diet of fruit and nuts is starting to make Fiona feel somewhat like a small rodent, but she supposes that it could be worse. At least the kid isn’t trying to make them eat anything weird, like funny looking mushrooms. Or bugs.

When they’re done eating, she and Rhys start packing it in to get some sleep for the night. Just as they’re making themselves comfortable, Flick hops to their feet at the edge of the bank, every muscle in their body tensed up.

“Do you guys hear that?” they ask in a low voice over their shoulder, not taking their eyes off the surface of the water.

Fiona listens, but doesn’t hear anything other than the sound of the wind passing through the trees. Even the howlcotes have been quiet for the past few hours, a small mercy in a world of hurt.

Rhys doesn’t appear to hear anything either. She’s about to brush it off and lay back down but then- no, wait. She _does_ hear something. It’s like... almost a hissing sound. The faintest hint of a whine on the breeze, just on the edge of hearing.

The air is suddenly thick with electricity, making all her hair stand on end.

Flick spares an horrified glance back at them. “Run. Run _now_.”

The urgency in their voice is enough to have both of them on their feet in an instant. Rhys pulls Fiona along by the arm, setting every nerve in her side aflame, but ignores her protests and shoves her in front to make sure she doesn’t fall behind. The vegetation is so damn dense that keeping herself upright is close to impossible. Her stupid cloak keeps getting caught on everything but they continue stumbling forward over bushes and roots until they hear water crash deafeningly against the banks behind them.

They both look back out of reflex. The first of many grave errors.

If Fiona thought the snake from last time was big, she was sorely mistaken. _This_ one puts that wimpy thing to shame, rearing its nasty head up nearly two stories above the water. And she doesn’t even want to _know_ how much of its body is still beneath the surface.

It blinks each of its six eyes slowly, silvery tongue slipping out from between its jaws to taste the air. Fins along its back flex and shiver with electricity, stripes of bioluminescence along the radials gleaming blue-green in the dark. The exact same color as the glowing algae in the water, she realizes with a start. No wonder none of them noticed this ugly piece of shit laying around down there. It was completely camouflaged, just waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

They’re not nearly far enough away from this thing to be safe. The sparks it’s giving off are arcing through the water that’s lapping dangerously close to their feet, but both she and Rhys are momentarily frozen. The viper doesn’t seem to know exactly where they are at first, but when they start backing up again, the rustling of the underbrush makes it whip its head around. Opening its mouth, slowly and with purpose, it exposes all of its wicked sharp teeth and lets loose a roar so loud that the earth beneath them shakes with it.

“Chamber of Secrets,” Rhys says weakly after it’s done, with equal parts horror and belated realization.

“Chamber of Secrets,” she confirms, and then resumes pulling him away from the shore. “Time to go, Rhys.”

Before they can get very far however, there’s a shout from the opposite side of the oasis. The viper whirls around towards the direction the sound came from, sending huge waves up over the banks. Something whizzes through the air and hits it in the throat with a _thwack_ , which _really_ pisses it off. It decides to vocalize its rage with another roar, but this one sounds... different. Higher pitched, maybe? And a little gurgly.

What happens next will forever be burned into the darkest reaches of Fiona’s mind.

Everything just... stops, so abruptly that it’s like time is frozen. The viper stills suddenly, cutting its roar off short. And for one split second, nothing moves. Not the viper, not Rhys, not even Fiona, who is just about crapping her pants at how close they are to becoming snake food right now.

One heartbeat. Then two.

The second after that, everything goes to shit.

The viper’s skin _bulges_ , like there’s some other smaller, equally creepy creature inside of it. At first, it’s only in one spot, but more and more bubbles keep forming all over its body. Pushing from within, tearing at its muscle and scales and _forcing_ its way out.

To put it quite simply, the snake fucking explodes.

And Rhys and Fiona have no hope of escaping the violent spray of viscera that results.

This is it, she decides. This is the absolute worst thing that has ever happened to her. Before, it was that one time when they were kids and Sasha thought they could make a pet out of a lost skag pup. It wound up peeing all over Fiona’s clothes so they got rid of it, but the damage was already done. She didn’t have anything else to wear, and all the other kids called her ‘Little Miss Skag Piss’ for _years_.

But this? This is so, _so_ much worse than that. On so many different levels.

Fiona stands there for a moment trying to absorb what just happened. There’s probably a logical explanation, but all she can think about is how goddamn _disgusting_ this is. She reaches up to try to wipe some of the still-hot blood and gore off her face but there’s no use. It’s on her hands and in her hair and it’s just- there’s no escaping it. It’s _everywhere_.

Rhys appears to be in a similar state of shock, and neither one of them are able to break it until some bushes nearby start rustling with movement.

“Everybody okay?” Flick calls from the foliage, picking their way back towards them with their crossbow in hand. The light from the plants is enough for her to see that the kid didn’t get hit by the splatter at all. Because of course they didn’t.

They tiptoe their way around the corpse of the viper, or rather what’s left of it. Oh _sure_. It would be the end of the world if they got a little muck on their boots or something, wouldn’t it? Perish the thought.

Meanwhile she and Rhys are standing here peeling _organs_ off their clothes.

“I have a better question,” Fiona manages to say past her infinite horror, trying to spit out some of the blood that got in her mouth. Nope, oh god, she swallowed some. “Why the _hell_ did that thing just explode?”

Flick stops in their tracks once they’re in the clearing, apparently noticing she and Rhys are drenched in reptile guts for the first time. They look down at the gorey mass of bones and flesh on the ground and then back up again. “Um... Oops?”

Oops? What the hell does _oops_ mean? “You didn’t- Did _you_ do that? Why? _How_?”

“Uh, well, poison, basically. Or I guess it’s more of a chemical compound that reacts aggressively to... most types of...” They trail off when they see the look on Fiona’s face. “Right. Uh, I didn’t know you guys were standing so close. So that’s my bad.”

It’s not like this is the first time Fiona’s been covered in entrails, but this stuff reeks worse than skag shit, which is _really_ saying something. The tangy stench of iron is so strong it’s making her eyes water, and it has this twist of rotting fish to it that’s making all her insides want to be on her outside.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Rhys finally chokes out as he pulls something off his shoulder that vaguely resembles a piece of intestine. Eugh, gross. Gross gross _gross_. “It smells like-” he takes a deep breath through his mouth and holds it, trying to swallow a gag, “-like gas station sushi. The regurgitated kind.”

How does he even know what that smells like? No, wait, she can take a guess.

Flick takes a few steps towards him, gingerly reaching towards another mystery organ stuck to his jacket. “Here, let me-”

“Don’t- Just-” He waves them off, flinging blood everywhere. “Please, _please_ don’t touch me right now.”

Uh-oh. She’s heard him use that tone of voice before.

“Are you going to puke?” she asks him, taking a couple steps away just to be safe. Her poor outfit has been through enough already. No need to traumatize her materialistic psyche even more by letting Rhys throw up on her.

“Did I not just say that, Fiona?” he snaps back. Yep, he’s totally gonna puke.

“You might want to take a step back, kid,” Fiona helpfully informs Flick as she moves even farther away herself. Every stride she takes is accompanied by various _squelches_ that she can feel more than she can hear, which somehow, is actually way worse. She doesn’t even want to try and guess how the goop has already made its way into the bottoms of her shoes.

Flick hops back as Rhys doubles over and retches onto the ground right where they were standing. Which is definitely very gross, but Fiona can’t help but give herself a mental pat on the back for calling it. Either Rhys is getting more predictable or she knows his tender tummy better than she ought to.

Then again, barfing is a perfectly legitimate response to getting sprayed head to toe with giant snake innards, so there is that. Although she has a feeling that it has more to do with the smell than anything else. The only reason she hasn’t tossed her own cookies yet is because after living all her life on Pandora, she’s depressingly used to being exposed to various kinds of filth and decay.

Fiona carefully peels off her cloak and then her jacket before fumbling with the zipper on her right boot. The kid drifts over, leaving Rhys to do his best to empty the entire contents of his stomach in one go.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” she starts once they stop a few feet away from her, clearly averse to getting too close, “but I’m pretty sure shooting things with poison doesn’t typically make them blow up.”

The kid shrugs, letting one of their bags slide off their shoulders so they can refasten their crossbow to it. “I mean, you never know. Spontaneous combustion is nothing to joke about. It’s not a myth, that’s just what they _want_ you to think.”

She has no idea who the hell _they_ is and doesn’t give enough of a shit to ask. Fiona finally manages to tug the zipper down and promptly yanks her boot off, and is absolutely horrified to find that the weird squishiness she felt in her shoe was a result of an entire _eyeball_ stuck to the underside of her foot.

Nope. Nope nope nope. Just- _H_ _ow_ did that even get in there? Seeing it dangle from the arch of her foot is making her want to scream in disgust because out of all the weird shit she could have pulled out of her shoe, of course it’s going to be something as repulsive as a massive, reptilian _eye_.

She shoots a glare at Flick, who is just watching her implode on herself with something akin to revulsion.

“This is _your_ fault,” she spits accusingly, jiggling her leg a little in hopes that maybe the eye will come off on its own. “I don’t know what you did to make that thing, just... To make it...”

“Go kablooey?” they finish for her, reaching around and producing a bottle from their belt, holding it out so the moonlight catches the shimmering purple liquid inside. “It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure you.”

She blinks stupidly at the flask. “What the hell is that.”

The brim of their hat casts their face in shadow, so it’s kind of hard to tell, but she thinks Flick rolls their eyes at her. “I already told you, it’s a chemical agent. I sometimes coat my bolts with it to make fighting these things go a lot faster-”

“Okay, you know what? I don’t care. Just get this thing off my foot so I can kick your ass.”

“Um, that’s gonna be a solid no from me,” they say, shoving the bottle back into the holster on their belt and finger gunning at her as they retreat. “Good luck with that though. I’m gonna go see if I can make another fire somewhere less... bloody.”

“But-”

“And don’t even think about coming back before you rinse yourself off. The viper’s gone, so the water’s safe. Just don’t swallow any algae. Tell Maurice, too.”

They dash off into the bushes before Fiona can even get another word in edgewise. Great. Fantastic. No, it’s okay, she can do this her damn self. Not like she really wanted their help anyway, so _there_.

 _Eugh_. Okay no, she can’t. She _can’t_. Even thinking about touching it is making her stomach roll. You would think she wouldn’t be so wigged out by a disembodied eyeball considering her past experience with such things, but having one pasted onto the bottom of her foot is a _little_ too much to bear.

Fiona slams her heel against the ground and drags it through the dirt in an attempt to scrape the thing off that way, which, as it turns out, is a very bad idea. In fact, it’s quite possibly the _worst_ idea she could have had, because all she manages to do is squash the eye flatter against her foot. When it pops from the pressure, all the fluid that was inside of it immediately starts soaking into her sock.

She is so. _Goddamn_ stupid.

Why? Why did she do that? What did she think was going to happen?

Okay, actually? It doesn’t matter. She’s done dealing with this. Whatever modicum of self control she’s clinging to is evaporating as she speaks. So Fiona tugs her sock off and balls it up before chucking the whole thing into the undergrowth, never to be seen or even thought about again.

There. Crisis averted. She might have lost another piece of clothing in the process, but some things can’t be helped.

After pulling her shoe back on and resigning herself to all the blisters she’s inevitably going to get, Fiona takes her jacket and folds it over her arm, deciding to leave the cloak. The damn thing wasn’t doing much for her anyway.

She turns back around to check on Rhys, who’s still going at it. But at this point he’s mostly dry heaving, so the risk of getting barfed on is probably low enough for her to safely wander back over.

“Yeah, you just... get it all out,” she tells him as she comes into earshot, trying to find the balance between concerned and condescending. “There you go. You’re doing great.”

“Thanks for the-” A gag cuts him off but he swallows it, shaking his head. “-for the moral support. It means so much.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” She pats him on the back a few times before realizing that he probably wouldn’t appreciate her spreading blood and guts all over the only part of him that didn’t get hit. “But hey, it could be worse. At least you didn’t find an eye in your shoe.”

He gives her a disbelieving look over his shoulder between coughs. “An _eye_? How did- How does that even happen?”

“I don’t know, but it was huge. And really disgusting. I think I’m going to have nightmares about it.”

Rhys makes this noise that’s halfway between a snort and wheeze, standing up straight again. “Didn’t you gouge some guy’s eye out with a spork and then carry it around for, like, weeks? How can this be any more traumatizing than that?”

“Oh,” Fiona says, sticking her hand into her pants pocket to dig for a moment before producing something and holding it out. “You mean this eye?”

He lets out one of the most undignified shrieks she’s ever heard him make, jumping back with a surprising amount of nimbleness. Is he cowering? She thinks he’s cowering.

“Why the _hell_ do you still have that?” he demands, pointing a shaky finger at the eyeball first, and then at her. “There’s something seriously wrong with you.”

“Aw, come on, I have a perfectly good explanation why-”

“Mm-mm, nope, normal people don’t keep eyes in their pockets, Fiona! Ever! For any reason! Athena told you how weird it was and yet you still-”

“What- She told you about that? When?”

“ _You_ told me about it, before we opened the Vault. You kept saying how much it hurt your feelings, but honestly Fi- and I’m gonna be blunt here- it’s weird. It’s- It’s just... weird.”

She considers him skeptically. “I don’t remember that.”

He rolls his eyes. “You were drunk.”

Oh. That explains it.

“You also kept asking me if my arm had a vibrate setting," he adds. "Still don’t get what that was all about.”

That... does sound like something drunk her would say, unfortunately. Crass _and_ tasteless. It adds up.

She’ll just count her lucky stars that Rhys lacks the self awareness to notice, like, anything.

Fiona starts tucking her eye away but Rhys very nearly pounces on her, making her take a step back.

“I can’t let this continue. It’s gone on long enough,” he tells her with a note of finality, but it’s even harder than normal to take him seriously. Somehow, he can even make being covered in blood and goop look goofy. That’s real talent right there.

He makes a grab for the eye but she jerks her arm back, slipping it carefully into her pocket once she puts some distance between them. “Since when did you become chief of the eyeball police?”

“Since about thirty seconds ago when you whipped that thing out like a trophy, which again, I have to reiterate was _extremely_ weird.”

He lurches towards her again but she dodges at the last moment, backing up towards the bank of the oasis.

“You can’t take my eye,” she insists. “It belongs to me. You have no legal right-”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure it belongs to the guy you stole it from,” he points out, “and he has every legal right to not want his eye being toted around in some random con artist’s pocket.”

Fiona scoffs. “Who cares? It’s not like he’s going to waltz up and ask for it back.”

Rhys nods sagely. “Right, because he’s dead. Which is also your fault, if I remember correctly. You’re not really helping yourself out here.”

“Okay, _look_.” She jabs a finger right in his smug, gore-covered face. “If you want the eye, you’re going to have to physically fight me for it. It’s useful, dammit, and I’m not giving that up just so you can sleep better at night knowing you did your _moral duty_ or whatever.”

He swats her hand away with a frown. “What could you possibly use that thing for? Party tricks? Giving people night terrors? Do you sleep with it under your pillow for good luck?”

She blinks at him a few times while he waits expectantly. Does he really not remember?

“It gives me access to pretty much every Atlas facility on Pandora,” she reminds him slowly.

Crossing his arms- and grimacing when doing that makes a gross noise- he inclines his head slightly. “And... what do you need to do that for? I could have given you access if you’d asked.”

Fiona shrugs, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Maybe I wanted to surprise you someday. I’m capable of doing nice things, you know.”

His expression gets all soft at that, and he doesn’t say anything for a few moments.

“But mostly I just steal freight from your warehouses and auction it off to the highest bidder," she finishes belatedly.

It takes a minute for her words to sink in, and when they finally do, he gapes at her in astonishment. “I- What are you- That was _you_?”

She gives him her best jazz hands. “Surprise!”

Okay, so she wasn’t stealing from him on _purpose_. She just thought it was a bunch of leftover Atlas crap that nobody cared about anymore. How was she supposed to know he got all large and in charge and appropriated the entire company by sheer luck? Especially since up until a couple weeks ago, she thought he was dead.

But either way, it’s really funny. Although Rhys doesn’t look so amused.

“Okay,” he finally says, resigned. “I see how it is now.”

The way he says it is oddly definitive. Like he just decided something.

There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes as he moves closer.

Fiona is suddenly very aware of how close she’s standing to the edge of the bank.

“Rhys,” she warns, taking one step back for every one he takes forward. “Rhys, don’t you d-”

Her foot slips and and she starts falling backwards, but Rhys catches her by the wrists at the last second. He doesn’t tug her back up immediately though, opting instead to watch in glee as she struggles to do it herself. Every time she gets close, he inches forward ever so slightly so she can never _quite_ get enough leverage to regain her balance.

She glares up at him after the third time, fuming. “Stop _doing_ that! Just pull me up, you jerk!”

“Actions have consequences, Fiona,” he tells her solemnly, but there’s nothing solemn about the face he’s making. He’s having the goddamn time of his life right now.

“Rhys, I _swear_ -“

“Long live the king,” he says with a flourish, releasing her hands. She tries her damndest to hang on but her fingers slip and gravity does what gravity is known to do. The last thing she sees before she hits the water is that infuriating smirk he only makes whenever he just did something he thinks was cool.

When she surfaces again, coughing and sputtering and pushing her sopping wet hair out of her face, the smirk is still there. God, he is such a _dick_. Not that she’s overly upset about being in the water now- it actually feels pretty nice, plus it’s washing away all the shit that’s stuck to her- but still. She could have done without the hit to her ego.

“I hate you,” she informs him.

His expression doesn’t change. “I understand completely, but I have to say, that was definitely worth it.”

“Oh, was it?” she huffs, kicking her feet to stay afloat. “Because I don’t know about you, but I’m exactly where I want to be. Meanwhile you’re still standing there letting all that crap get caked on and _man_ , I wouldn’t want to be the one scrubbing all that out later. That’s really going to suck for you.”

He looks down at the front of himself, making a face. “That... is an excellent point.”

Rhys starts backing away from the bank to get a running start.

Oh, for crying out loud.

Fiona isn’t fast enough to avoid the massive splash he makes when he hits the water. The wave crests over her head and now her hair is in her eyes again, dammit. She spends almost an embarrassing amount of time trying to fling it away because it’s sticking to her face. Once she can finally see, she takes a quick look around for Rhys so she can yell at him a little- because really, at this point he just deserves it- but he’s nowhere to be found.

“Rhys?” she calls hesitantly, peering down into the water where he landed. He’s not down _there_ is he? He better not be. She’s not a good enough swimmer to save him from drowning.

She gives it a minute but he still doesn’t surface. Even after spinning around and checking in all directions, there’s no sign of him.

Well. Shit.

Just as she’s preparing to make a dive for him, something brushes up against her shoulder.

She whirls around with a shriek, already kicking herself away from whatever the _hell_ just touched her, only to find Rhys dripping wet and laughing so hard that he can scarcely speak.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Fiona demands, heart pounding in her ears. She uses a hand to splash water in his direction when he doesn’t reply and much to her delight, some of it gets in his open mouth.

He chokes for a second but doesn’t stop cackling. “That was so- You should have-”

He shakes his head, unable to so much as finish his stupid sentence.

“Stop laughing, jackass!” she complains loudly, trying- and failing- to bite back her own giggles. Screw him and his contagious laughter. It’s not funny, dammit. It’s _not_.

“You’re laughing too!” he manages to choke out, to which she splashes him in the face again. This time he decides to retaliate, and the whole thing devolves into a full fledged splash battle that Fiona winds up being the arguable victor of. If Rhys says otherwise, that’s only because he decided to play dirty by cornering her against the bank and launching a relentless aquatic assault until she finally surrendered.

Once all the merriment dies down, Fiona figures she should take advantage of what might be her last chance to bathe for a while. Or do anything that resembles bathing. She makes her way over to a more forgiving slope of the bank and tosses her jacket up onto the shore before giving the same treatment to her boots. Rhys looks on with curiosity.

“You’re taking all your clothes off,” he observes idly, which earns him the dryest look Fiona can muster.

“Not even in your dreams, Rhys.” She peels her remaining sock off and throws that onto the bank too before wiping at the blood caked between her toes. “I’m just not a fan of fermenting in my own filth. Especially filth that smells like _this_.”

He makes a thoughtful sound, swimming closer so he can untie his coak and fling it up to join Fiona’s things. “I think the only thing that would get rid of the smell completely is soap. Lots and lots of soap. Which, uh, we don’t have.”

“What about tomato juice?” she suggests. They don’t have any of that either, but maybe they can make some? Does this place have tomatoes? Probably not.

Rhys pulls his shoes off and tosses them onto the shore, shaking his head. “That’s just an old folklore thing. It only masks it for a while.”

“Well, I think I’d rather smell like a soup kitchen than a fish hatchery,” she asserts, and Rhys makes a noise that she thinks means he agrees with her.

Try as they might to scour out the stains from their clothes, it all seems to be pretty damn ground in. The stench is one thing, but Fiona was hoping she could at least get most of the discoloration out. The entire front of her pants is tinted red now, which _really_ throws off the color balance of the rest of her outfit. Most of Rhys’ stuff is almost too dark to tell, and she _tries_ not to be bitter about it, but it’s pretty hard for her to let it go.

She gives up eventually, fingers too numb from scrubbing to continue. Rhys is floating on his back, having drifted out a little ways. She thinks he might have fallen asleep before she gets close enough to see that he’s fully awake and staring up at the sky.

“Do you want to head back?” she asks quietly as she approaches, but he doesn’t seem to hear her or even notice she’s there. She pokes him in the side to get his attention and asks again, to which he shakes his head.

“Not especially,” he says with a sigh, and then reorients himself so he’s more vertical than horizontal. “The water’s nice. Warmer than the air, anyway. Although I can feel myself pruning as we speak.”

She knows exactly what he means. This feels good for her side, at any rate. She hasn’t had to put weight on it since Rhys threw her in the water. Although the salve for her burns is washing off, so those are starting to sting a little.

“Being a prune isn’t so bad,” she tells him as she swims closer. “There’s worse things to be.”

“Oh, definitely. Like, uh, a Hyperion jackass, for one. Those guys are the worst.”

She shrugs a little. “I was thinking Pandoran scum, actually. Always running around, getting their fingers in everybody’s pie...”

“Mm. And mucking up Vault key deals.”

“ _Fake_ Vault key deals,” she corrects him. “Bunch of bastards.”

He laughs at that. It’s not like the loud, dorky guffaws that he usually makes- or, well, okay, it’s still dorky, but it’s... softer somehow. Warm.

Aaand there’s that weird need to be close to him again. Annoying how it keeps popping up out of nowhere like that when all she’s trying to do is mind her own business. Some part of her wants to resist it, to push it away and lock it up tight and never, ever think about it again.

But.

...Oh, dammit. Like she ever _actually_ had any hope of being able to do that.

Kicking herself closer before she can change her mind, Fiona winds her arms around his neck and rests her head on his shoulder. Rhys goes stiff for a moment, like she took him off guard, but slowly relaxes back into a half laying down position and brings his hands up to hold her gently by the waist.

She’s afraid to speak at first. Afraid that it will break this moment into a million tiny pieces to be swept under the rug like when they were in the Vault. She didn’t have the courage to say what was on her mind then and she certainly doesn’t now, but even if she did, she’s not sure she could put it into words.

She feels... _something_ for him, that much is obvious. They’ve been through too much together for her to try to convince herself otherwise, so she won’t even bother. And she’s felt this way for a while, she thinks, longer than she may have realized. But it’s not like it matters- he said he was interested in somebody else. Probably somebody she doesn’t know, since it wasn’t Sasha and she can’t really think of anyone else who can tolerate Rhys enough to be a candidate.

Well. They’d make a pretty unlikely pair anyway, wouldn’t they? But even if this- what’s happening right now- even if it’s just temporary, it’s not something she wants to forget about. She wants to remember this for a long time.

Even though it did take an exploding goddamn snake just to get here.

“I miss home,” she tells him softly after they’ve sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the water ripple with their every slight movement.

Rhys adjusts his grip on her a little and sighs. “I do too.”

“What do you miss most?”

He goes quiet for a second, thinking.

“Cheeseburgers,” he eventually decides.

Fiona has to pull back a little to make sure he’s not messing with her. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he says, slightly pained. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so many nuts in my life. I don’t even like trail mix, Fiona. The squirrel food is killing me.”

Okay, she probably shouldn’t laugh, but he sounds so genuinely upset about it that it’s a little comical. Also, who the hell doesn’t like trail mix? Everybody likes trail mix. Just pick out the parts you don’t want, it’s not hard.

Once her giggles die down some, she pats him affectionately on the chest. “So when we get back, the first thing you’re going to do is...”

“Get a cheeseburger. Or maybe enchiladas. I haven’t decided.”

The both laugh and then gradually ease back into silence, but something about what she said is bugging her.

“ _If_ we get back,” she corrects herself belatedly.

Rhys takes a deep breath and lets it out again, rubbing her back with one hand. “We will.”

He sounds so confident about it that it’s almost baffling. How can he be so sure when they have no idea where they even are? Neither one of them has ever heard of some planet called Nona before but it obviously didn’t just materialize out of nowhere. _If_ getting back is possible, who knows how long it’s going to take?

She pushes herself back a little more to look up at him but there’s no trace of doubt in his expression. He really believes what he’s saying. “You can’t know anything for sure, Rhys. We could be light years away from Pandora right now.”

He shrugs, unconcerned. “Maybe. Or maybe we’re not. We’ll figure it out, Fi.”

She blinks at him a couple times in utter disbelief. “I don’t get it.”

“Get... what?”

“How you’re just... How you’re so-” she gestures vaguely at the entirety of him, “like _that_. It’s like you don’t even care.”

That makes him smile, of all things. “I care a lot more than you think I do.”

“You don’t act like it.”

Sighing deeply, Rhys brings up a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “I guess I... I think of it like this. Either we really are stranded in some desolate corner of the universe, or we’re not. But whichever one it is, there’s nothing we can do to change it. It’s just... It’s just a fact. And we have to accept it whether we like it or not.”

“So... that’s it then,” she says doubtfully. “You’ve given up? You’re not even going to try?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re not listening.”

“I’m listening,” she pouts. “You’re just bad at explaining things.”

Rhys opens his eyes and considers her for a moment, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “All I’m saying is that we have to work with whatever hand we’ve been dealt. No matter how shitty it is, no matter how much we don’t want to, this is what we’ve got. We can’t change the cards, but we can change how we play them and _that’s_ what matters, okay? That’s all.”

That would probably be a really good metaphor if she could figure out how exactly it relates to their situation. “Okay, now so _I_ can understand.”

He rolls his eyes and claps his hands down on her shoulders. “Everything’s going to be _fine_ , Fi.”

“But how do you-”

“How do I know that? I know because- because I just know. Okay? Maybe I’m stupidly optimistic, or maybe I’m naive, but I just know. And I’m _so_ confident, in fact, that I’m willing to make a bet with you, right here and right now, that everything’s going to turn out perfectly fine in the end. And if it doesn’t- if the stars align against me and prove me wrong- then I will- I’ll just-”

Fiona raises an eyebrow. “You’ll what?”

He scoffs down at her. “I don’t know! But I’ll do the hell out of it!”

Well. He’s committed to his cause, so at least he’s got that going for him.

“So do we have a deal or not?” he demands.

“I don’t make bets unless I-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, unless you know the outcome. Consider it a promise, then.” He holds out his pinky expectantly.

Oooh. A _pinky_ promise. Serious stuff. She links her little finger with his after a moment of contemplation, if only to see the way his eyes light up when she does it.

“I don’t break my promises,” he tells her, “so I hope you’re prepared to get your pessimistic ass handed to you.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she says with a grin.

They spend a little more time in the water, bantering back and forth and watching the swirling lights of the oasis around them. Little glowbugs drift over after some time, blinking at each other and floating along about their business. A butterfly flutters past, landing briefly on Fiona’s shoulder to rest its gauzy wings before taking off into the trees again.

There does, however, come a point where the pruney fingers become too much to bear, so they drag themselves from the relative comfort of the lake. The air is bitterly cold compared to the water, so they collect their shoes and jackets as quickly as they can and make their way towards the column of smoke rising from the trees.

Flick looks up from where they’re whittling something out of a little hunk of wood as her and Rhys emerge from the bushes, raising an eyebrow. “I was starting to think you guys had drowned.”

“Lost track of time,” Rhys explains quickly, throwing his boots and coat down by the fire to dry. Fiona gives hers the same treatment while Flick watches them both with a keen eye.

“Alrighty then,” they say, still giving her and Rhys the up and down. She doesn’t even want to know what that’s all about.

Well, she has a feeling she _does_ know, which is exactly why she isn’t going to say anything about it. They finally cut it out once it’s clear neither she nor Rhys plan on taking the bait.

After Flick chews up more of those wretched leaves and reapplies the paste to her and Rhys’ burns, they both curl up by the fire to finally get some much-needed rest. Despite the fact that the day’s events are still buzzing around in her head like a nest of angry hornets, Fiona falls asleep almost immediately. Which, she guesses, probably shouldn’t come as much of a surprise considering how much _shit_ happened today. It was... exhausting, to say the least. If she dreams, she doesn’t remember it.

Day three starts dark and early and they leave the oasis behind, heading straight towards the mountain range that’s visible on the horizon. They find markers in the sand- small, sturdy pyramids built out of individual stones and painted with something reflective so they can easily be seen from a distance, even in low light. They follow those all the way to the beginning of the pass, and the only way to go from there is up.

Not straight up, thankfully, but it is a bit of an ascent. At first it’s more gradual, but gets steeper later on. Some parts they even have to climb up over obstacles that have no other way around. Fiona has no clue how anyone can navigate this craggy hellscape in the dark, but Flick seems to know the way backwards and forwards. Even when the path narrows to a single foot’s width with a sheer rock wall on one side and a clear drop down on the other, they push on with confidence. That particular part of the trail takes a while to clear, since Rhys isn’t the biggest fan of heights and even _she_ has some reservations about it at first glance.

By the time they arrive at the prison blocking the pass, everybody’s tired. From her best guess, they’re only about halfway through the day, but the terrain is unforgiving and it’s goddamn _cold_. Flick stops so suddenly that Fiona almost runs into them, and they hold their finger up to their lips as a gesture for everyone to keep quiet.

The kid peeks around the corner of the ravine and Fiona and Rhys hang back. She can hear distant shouting and... is that gunfire? It sounds sporadic, so it’s probably not a gunfight. It’s either target practice or the well-known bandit pastime of shooting at each other for fun. There’s also a remote chance that it could be both.

Flick watches for a while before they duck back, shoving their hands into their pockets.

“Okay, so, here’s the thing,” they begin. “There’s no way we’re walking in through the front door.”

“Was that ever an option?” Rhys wonders.

“It could have been, if these idiots had all killed each other or starved to death out here like I’d been hoping they had. But luck just wasn’t on our side for that one, unfortunately.”

“So what do we do?” Fiona asks, leaning her shoulder against the wall of the chasm. “Go through a window? A side door?”

“It’s a prison. How many windows or side doors do you think there are?” they ask flatly to which Fiona can only shrug. How should she know? She’s not a criminal.

Er. Wait a minute.

Flick rolls their eyes and gestures for her and Rhys to follow, and all three of them move to lean out just far enough to take a look at what they’re working with.

Wow, Flick wasn’t kidding when they said there was no way around. The building is three stories high and built into the mountain on the west side, while all the open space to the left of it is barricaded off with fences too tall to scale and topped with barbed wire to boot. The whole prison yard is illuminated by flood lights, so even if they _could_ somehow get over that fence, they’d be spotted easily. Because- as she already guessed from the noise- this place is crawling with bandits.

There’s watchtowers set up along the fenceline, most of which have guards in them. Some of them are keeping a lookout but a lot look like they’re just goofing off, which is good. Inattentive security is always a plus. There’s a guy on the ground out front though, stomping around and waving his shotgun back and forth like a jackass. So he’ll probably be an issue.

Flick directs her and Rhys’ attention to the westernmost side of the building that’s squashed into the cliff wall, and right in the corner is what looks like a ventilation outlet. Two large fans sit next to each other, their blades stationary except for when the wind catches them the right way and sends them spinning lazily.

The kid pushes them back into cover after everyone gets a good look. “That’s your way in.”

“ _Our_ way in?” Fiona echoes questioningly. “What about yours?”

“I’ll figure something else out. Crawling around in air ducts isn’t really my thing. Don’t worry, I’ll be on the walkie.” They hold up their little radio, reminding Fiona of her own that’s still clipped to her belt. “I’ll guide you through. I’ve been here a few times to steal supplies, so I know the layout of the building pretty well.”

Rhys doesn’t seem convinced, and frankly, Fiona isn’t either.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if we all went the same way?” he asks. “Splitting up sounds...”

“Dangerous,” Fiona helpfully supplies, “and a needless risk we don’t have to take.”

Flick blows out a heavy breath, clearly impatient. “Alright, let me make this clearer. Small, enclosed spaces aren’t really my thing. Even thinking about it makes my skin crawl. So my final answer is no, I will not be going with you through the vents.”

That... makes a lot of sense, actually. She’d just make an ass out of herself if she kept arguing now. Rhys must feel the same way because he doesn’t say anything else either.

The kid claps their hands together quietly. “Glad we’re all agreed. Now, I know the plan was to go straight through and get to the other side as fast as possible, but there is one teeny, _tiny_ thing I forgot to mention before.”

Both her and Rhys start groaning in unison but Flick waves their hands, shaking their head. “It’s a good thing, I promise. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to get your hopes up in case this place was in shambles, buuut... There’s a garage.”

Fiona blinks a few times. “A garage?”

“With vehicles.”

“With vehicles?”

They nod slowly, giving her an odd look. “Um, zoom zoom?”

She looks to Rhys, bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. “Zoom zoom!”

“Is... she okay?” Flick asks Rhys tentatively.

Rhys considers her fondly for a second. “I think she’s just happy that we won’t have to walk any more after this.”

She’s _ecstatic_ actually, but close enough. So long to the days of miserable jaunts through the wilderness! She’s sooo ready to just sit on her ass and let the beauty of mechanized travel do all the work.

“Right,” Flick says a little hesitantly, but keeps plowing forward after a moment. “Well, the idea is to get into the garage, steal whatever has the most gas in it and all the fuel I’m sure they have just lying around, and then hightail it out of here straight to Fides.”

“Sounds great,” Rhys comments. “Are you, uh, still not coming with us?”

That stops them in their tracks and they backpedal a bit. “I... might have changed my mind. I don’t know yet. Let’s put a pin in that for now.” They think about it a little longer before shaking their head to clear it. “The problem with the garage is that it’s usually locked up tight and under surveillance. They take their cars very seriously here. But getting in is the hard part. Getting _out_ should be easy.”

“So what’s it going to take to get us in?” Fiona inquires.

“A positive physical identification of one of the guards and three sets of confirmed passcodes.”

That brings her up short. “Sounds... complicated.”

“Basically, I break one of their fingers off for the print scanner and you guys overload the prison systems from the security console.”

Fiona nods approvingly. “Less complicated.”

Flick looks between her and Rhys a few times. “Think you two can handle that?”

“Absolutely,” Rhys responds before turning to Fiona. “Guess this means we’re partners now.”

She makes a face at him. “We’ve been partners since the beginning, you dope.”

“I mean- I mean _yeah_.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “But this is different. This time we actually get to... work together.”

Oh. Huh. She guesses he’s right. It’s never been just the two of them before. Kind of weird, now that she thinks about it.

It’ll probably go about as well as can be expected considering bad luck clings to both of them like a plague.

“You guys ready to go or what?” Flick cuts in as they hop in place impatiently. “Daylight’s burning, figuratively speaking.”

They all peer around the corner again to check on what the guards are doing. None of them have taken a convenient lunch break or anything like that, so getting to the ventilation shaft without being spotted is going to take some creativity. It might be possible to stick to the shadows enough not to be noticed by the ones in the watchtowers, but the guy hanging around out front will almost definitely see them.

Flick seems to realize the same thing. They gesture for her and Rhys to stand back, reaching around to unfasten their crossbow and then settling in to wait. It takes a while, and watching that guard roam around in circles is probably one of the most boring things she’s ever had to do, but eventually he starts wandering towards a more shadowy corner of the front of the prison.

The kid was sitting so still she wasn’t sure they were even paying attention, but they start creeping forward to keep the guard in view. They pull a bottle from their belt, tugging the cork out with their teeth and then pouring a few drops of something bright, fluorescent green onto the tip of the bolt already loaded in the crossbow.

“You’re not going to make him explode, are you?” Rhys asks in a hushed voice, eyeing them warily. She’s glad he said something, because she was just wondering the same thing.

Flick rolls their eyes and recorks the bottle before returning it to its holster. “Don’t be stupid. The goal here is to _not_ attract unwanted attention to ourselves.”

And with that, they hoist the crossbow up and peer into the scope, finger ready on the trigger. They wait until the lone bandit has moved far enough into the shadows before they shoot. The bolt whistles through the air and buries itself deeply into the guy’s shoulder with a muted _thunk_.

Oh, what the hell? She thought they were a better shot than that. There’s no way that killed him, but at least he doesn’t make much noise as he falls over. She glares at the kid questioningly but they’re already on the move, slinking around the corner and into the wider part of the pass. Fiona follows with a sigh and Rhys is right behind her, and they all keep themselves pressed flat against the wall of the gorge as to not attract notice from the guards in the watchtowers.

She and Rhys keep moving past the wounded bandit, since he’s not really doing much other than lie there and writhe around quietly. He’ll be dead soon from the blood loss anyway, so she guesses it worked out. But Flick apparently decides to make a pit stop, kicking his shotgun away from him and bending over to take the pistol sticking out of the front of his pants.

“Is Reina still here?” they ask him as they tuck the gun away, keeping their voice down but not enough for Fiona to miss what they’re saying. Reina? Now that’s a name she hasn’t heard before. She’s interested enough that she stops walking and Rhys nearly runs into her, looking at her in confusion until she directs his attention towards the confrontation taking place a few feet away.

The bandit shakes his head stiffly instead of answering their question. Flick tosses their crossbow to the ground before crouching down over him and grabbing the bolt still sticking out of his shoulder to press it deeper into his flesh. “Tell me where she is or what’s left of your miserable life is going to get a _lot_ more painful.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, _hey_ ,” Fiona finds herself saying, trying to catch their eye. She’s not entirely surprised to see that they’re a bit of a sadist, but now’s _really_ not the time. “Can’t we just let the guy die in peace? And who the hell is Reina?”

Flick largely ignores her in favor of whipping a dual-bladed dagger out of nowhere and pressing the points of it underneath the bandit’s collarbone. Great. No really, getting spotted within the first thirty seconds of infiltrating this place is just how she wanted to spend her day. Sure, they’re out of sight from the watchtowers, but how long until somebody notices this guy is missing?

“Can’t... breathe...” the bandit eventually gasps, sucking in a rattling breath and thrashing oddly underneath them. She doesn’t want to give him ideas by saying this out loud but couldn’t he just... throw them off? They can’t possibly be _that_ heavy, can they?

“Yeah, that would be the paralytic moving into your respiratory system,” Flick informs the bandit dryly. Oh, that explains it. “You have about a minute before it reaches your heart. Clock’s ticking, pal.”

This guy either has a death wish or is just exceptionally stupid because even with a blade in his neck, he jerks his head back and forth and wheezes, “Don’t know... where Reina is...”

Flick pushes their dagger even further under his collarbone and he coughs, spitting out a wad of blood onto the sand beside his head.

Rhys casts around a nervous glance. “Is this- Can we hurry this up? He said she’s not here maybe we should just-”

“He’s lying,” she and Flick say at the same time, which earns her an incredulous look from Rhys.

“No, I mean, I agree with you,” she assures him, turning back to Flick. “Stop digging for treasure in the poor bandit’s neck and let’s go, kid.”

They seem to weigh their options for a moment before drawing back, much to the bandit’s visible relief.

That is, until Flick raises their dagger back up and brings it down with enough force to drive it nearly all the way through his neck. He makes this gurgly, wet noise before they drag the blade horizontally in one quick, clean stroke, and even Fiona has to look away at that point because that is just... sick.

“Nobody asked you to wait,” Flick addresses her and Rhys as they pick themselves up and grab their crossbow from the ground. They sound so casual, so _unbothered_ by the fact that they almost decapitated a guy when he was already completely helpless and dying anyway. She’s never been one to care much about killing bandits humanely, but still. That was a little much.

“Did your parents not love you enough as a kid or something?” Rhys suddenly blurts, appearing to be just as troubled by what happened as she is. “Because I have to say, that was- that was just... needlessly cruel.”

Flick raises an eyebrow at him. “More needlessly cruel than letting him suffer for as long as that paralytic was going to take to kill him? I was lying about the time to get him to talk. He had a good five minutes left. I did him a favor.”

Well. When they put it like _that_ , it almost makes sense. Rhys blanches though, clearly not buying it.

“ _That’s_ what you’re going to call it? A favor? If you had just shot him in the head in the first place-”

“I needed him alive,” Flick interrupts with a shrug, “at least for a minute or two. Long enough to tell me what I needed to know. And the guy probably deserved more than what he got anyway. The bandits around here have no problems with stealing from and killing innocent people. They regularly raid the towns closest to the mountains, including Due East. This one got off easy, if you ask me.”

“So we’re playing judge, jury, and executioner now? Is that it? Never mind the fact that you almost took a guy’s head clean off just to see if this Reina person is even around. _These_ assholes are the ones in the wrong, right?”

Fiona sighs deeply and pinches the bridge of her nose. This is making her head hurt. “Are we really going to stand here and argue over the morally correct way to murder someone?”

Neither one of them have anything to say to that. They all spend a minute staring uncomfortably at each other until Flick throws their hands up and spins around to start walking towards the side of the building.

Fiona follows and Rhys trails after her with a pout, mumbling something along the lines of, “It was still super messed up, though.”

As they approach the vent, Fiona tries to peer inside. There obviously used to be some kind of grate here to keep the ducts quartered off, but it looks like it’s long since been removed for one reason or another. Probably because of rust, if the amount of oxidation on the blades of the fans is anything to go by.

“And this is where I leave you,” Flick says as they refasten their crossbow across their back. “The tunnel goes straight for a while but you’ll have to climb up eventually to get to the ducts in the ceiling. After that, I’ll guide you through to the security room.”

“And you’re sure you know the way?” Fiona asks dubiously. What did they do, memorize a blueprint of all the air ducts in the building? Pretty impressive considering they've only been here a few times to supposedly steal supplies.

“I’ll be on the walkie the whole time,” they assure her without really answering the question. They reach back to pull out the pistol they took from the bandit and hand it out to Rhys. “This is for you. Since I still have your wand.”

“It’s a stun baton, actually,” he corrects them, eyeing the gun warily, “and I, uh, don’t know how to use that. So no thank you.”

Fiona rolls her eyes and snatches the pistol, shoving it into the back of her pants. Sure, she already has a gun, but it never hurts to have a backup. Especially one that holds more than one round at a time.

Flick looks between the two of them a few times before shrugging. “Works for me. Good luck, you guys. Catch you on the flippity flip.”

They start backing up, tilting their head up to consider the building. Just as Fiona’s about to ask what the hell they’re doing, they break into a sprint straight towards the wall. She fully expects them to face plant right into it, but they jump at the last second, using one foot to change their momentum so they can leap high enough to grab onto the sill of a second story window.

Um. Holy shit. Okay then.

She and Rhys share a look of disbelief as they carefully pull themselves up the entire rest of the way to the roof using the ledges and berms of the building. Unbelievable. She doesn’t even want to know why or _how_ they learned to do that. No wonder the kid’s so weirdly strong if they’re parkouring all over the place all the damn time.

The radio on her hip suddenly crackles to life, “ _Sparrow to Robin Hood, Sparrow to Robin Hood, over._ ”

It takes a second for her to shake off the shock of watching someone scale a three story building without like, ropes or anything. Rhys digs around in his pockets for his walkie while Fiona unclips hers and lifts it up, still staring at the edge of the roof in awe.

“We didn’t discuss code names, kid,” she says into the receiver, gesturing for Rhys to follow as she makes her way back over to the fans. “How are we supposed to know who’s who?”

“ _This isn’t a secure channel, over. Would be unwise to divulge such information, over._ ”

“I think you’re only supposed to say ‘over’ once,” Rhys says into his own radio, and Fiona can’t help but snort at how he looks holding a tiny little walkie talkie covered in cat stickers. “Like when you’re actually done talking. Not just at the end of every sentence.”

“ _What do you know about radio etiquette?_ ”

“More than you do, apparently,” Rhys tells them dryly.

There’s a break of static before they come across the line again. “ _Sorry, Big Goose, I didn’t quite catch that. Please repeat, over._ ”

Fiona has to bite back her giggles as Rhys stares blankly ahead for a moment and just mouths the words ‘Big Goose’ to himself. She probably shouldn’t encourage it but it _is_ kind of funny. And strangely fitting.

“We’re heading into the tunnel now,” she says into the walkie, squeezing her way between the blades of the fan and being careful not to trip once she’s inside. It’s too dark to see anything, but once Rhys is beside her, he, uh, turns on his hand flashlight. Or whatever. The area is bathed in light now which is enough for her to tell that this duct is way grosser than she could have imagined it would be.

Everything’s covered in a thick film of dust, cobwebs stretching from floor to ceiling. There’s also so much trash littered around that the smell alone is enough to make her gag- everything from huge plastic bags filled with who knows what to pieces of half-eaten food that look more like a breeding ground for maggots than anything that used to be even remotely edible.

“ _Watch out for the garbage. These guys aren’t the smartest so they kind of just throw it all somewhere where they can’t see it. And they still wonder why the whole place smells like a dumpster._ ”

“ _Now_ they tell us,” Rhys mutters, picking his way around the mountains of trash. It’s a precarious process, but they eventually get past the worst of it, moving further into the ventilation system. It’s still dusty as all hell but at least they’re not walking on somebody’s mold-covered lunch anymore, so she won’t complain.

It doesn’t take long for them to come up on the portion of the duct that starts sectioning off into smaller vents to route throughout the building. There’s multiple openings on all three sides, so she asks Flick over the radio which one they need to take.

“ _The middle one,_ ” they come back over the line after a moment.

Rhys heaves a sigh and shifts his weight from one foot to the other impatiently. “ _Which_ middle one? There’s two in front of us and one on each side.”

“ _The-_ ” the signal seems to cut out for a moment but comes back after a second, “ _-second from your left._ ”

Both she and Rhys consider the aforementioned duct. That one is mangled a few feet in, almost like something crushed it from the outside. Even if they could somehow squeeze in there, they’d probably get sliced to shreds by the exposed edges of the metal.

“ _Bonnie and Clyde, come in, over,_ ” Flick’s voice crackles from the radio again. “ _Are you guys in yet?_ ”

“You know the one you told us to take is collapsed, right?” Fiona tells them. “There’s no way we’re getting through there. Also, you can’t just change the code names from the ones you already gave us. It’s confusing.”

“ _Roger that, Federico._ ”

Sighing, Fiona rubs at her forehead. “The vents, kid. What do you want us to do?”

“ _Well, if you can’t take that one, then I guess... um... The one next to it should get you pretty close?_ ”

Rhys exchanges a flat look with Fiona. “You don’t know where any of these lead, do you?”

“ _Not a clue._ ”

Try as she might, she can’t bring herself to be overwhelmingly surprised. Still, she’s not particularly thrilled by the idea of having to pick a way to go at random and hope it doesn’t drop them in a room full of bloodthirsty bandits. But it’s not like there’s a conveniently placed map of the air ducts on the wall or anything, so that’s just about all they can do at this point.

“ _Just pick one to get yourselves into the building. I really do know the layout, so if you can find a safe spot to get out of the vents and then describe to me where you are, I can guide you to the security room from there._ ”

“Why didn’t you just tell us to do that in the first place?” Rhys asks, and the line goes silent for a few seconds.

“ _Because._ ”

“Because...?”

“ _Because I didn’t think you would go through with it if it seemed like I didn’t know what I was doing._ ”

Well. Yeah. Probably not.

But it’s too late to turn back now, so. She guesses this is what they’re doing now.

“We’ll radio you once we’re inside,” Fiona says into the receiver before clipping her walkie back onto her belt. Then she turns to Rhys, planting her hands on her hips. “You feeling lucky enough to pick which way to go or should we flip a coin?”

Rhys strokes his chin thoughtfully for a few moments, contemplating all the openings in turn.

“This one,” he eventually announces, pointing to the rightmost vent on the left wall. “I’m getting strong feelings about this one.”

“Are you sure it’s not just indigestion from breakfast?”

“It... could be,” he admits, but they both start moving over towards it regardless.

Rhys climbs up first since he’s the one with the hand light, but soon discovers that the duct is too narrow for him to turn around without some serious flexibility that he just doesn’t have. So Fiona has to claw her way up herself, which wouldn’t have been a big deal normally, but the ache in her side has a lot to say about it. She’s careful not to twist too much but it still _hurts_ , dammit, and she’s out of breath by the time she finally pulls into the vent.

“Are you okay?” Rhys asks over his shoulder, voice thick with concern.

“Peachy keen,” she replies, waving him off. “Just keep moving. It’ll be better once I’m on my feet again.”

He doesn’t seem convinced but starts crawling forward anyway, leaving tracks in the dust that Fiona tries to follow so she doesn’t wind up getting too dirty. It’s inevitable though- no surface is spared from the grit- and pretty soon they both look like they’ve been rolling around in a pile of dirt just for the hell of it. Or that’s what she imagines they look like, since it’s pretty dark in here and she can’t really tell for sure.

Rhys stops suddenly, and she nearly bumps into him because she was too busy trying to spit a cobweb out of her mouth to pay attention.

“It’s blocked,” he states flatly, like he’s been disappointed too many times over crap like this to feel anything other than cool apathy at yet another obstacle thrown in their path.

“What do you mean it’s blocked?” Fiona tries to lean around him to see.

“It’s caved in, like the other one was. We’ll have to go back.”

Um, no way, she’s not doing that. Crawling backwards feels worse than crawling forwards, so unless there’s absolutely no way around, she’s not moving an inch.

She tells Rhys as much and he sighs so deeply and for so long that she’s frankly sort of impressed by it. “There’s no way around, Fiona.”

“Let me see,” she insists as she starts push past him. He’s probably just exaggerating; she’s sure they could squeeze past all the sharp bits if they’re careful. And they can’t be that far away from an exit by now either, so all they have to do is push past this _one_ little hiccup...

“Will you _move_?” she demands, still doing her best to wriggle by. Why do his shoulders have to be so goddamn wide?

“I literally could not be flatter against the wall if I wanted to be,” he snarks back, making her roll her eyes. “Why can’t you just take my word for it? There’s no way we’re going to be able to-”

He cuts himself off when he comes to the realization that Fiona is struggling to push herself any further and can’t seem to scoot backwards either.

“We’re stuck,” he observes. It isn’t a question.

“Well,” Fiona huffs, still trying to wrench herself free. “Maybe... Maybe a little.”

Rhys heaves a heavy breath, suddenly looking very tired. “This is your fault. You know that, right?”

“Yes, Rhys, I know that,” she snaps. “Thank you for the helpful reminder. Just help me get us _un_ stuck so we can move on with our lives, please.”

He tries to pitch in, but to no avail. They’re really wedged in here, shoulder to shoulder, no hope of budging. Just as she starts thinking they’re never going to get out of this, Rhys finally jerks himself backwards, and somehow, Fiona winds up on her back beneath him.

“This is not better,” she asserts indignantly once they figure out that they still can’t get free of each other.

Rhys shakes his head in agreement. “No, not really. I think I had a dream kinda like this once, though.”

She’s so busy trying to untangle her legs from his that she hardly thinks twice about what he said. He had a dream about her being trapped underneath him? That’s bizarre. Why is he telling her about it? She guesses she can see how it relates to their current situation, but still. He should keep his weird dreams to himself.

Working the rest of the way out of this knot they’ve found themselves in is much easier said than done. They have no space to work with, so as time goes on, they get progressively more aggressive with their efforts. Rhys whacks her in the face with his elbow so many times she’s starting to wonder if he’s doing it on purpose, and her knee finds its way into his ribs more than once. They’re so preoccupied with their task that they nearly miss the fact that the duct is starting to shudder with every minute shift of their weight, but they continue struggling until the metal lets out a particularly long and ominous groan.

They both freeze, exchanging a look of dread.

And then, all at once, the duct collapses, taking them with it.

It’s not too much of a fall, but the fact that Rhys lands right on top of her makes it a _lot_ more painful than it had to be. The breath is knocked right out of her and Fiona has to take a moment to reconsider all the life choices she’s made that have led up to this moment of pure and unfiltered agony. It’s like what she would imagine getting hit by a truck would feel like, if the truck was six feet tall and otherwise entirely Rhys-shaped.

It takes a second for Rhys to get his bearings. No, that’s fine, she’ll just sit here and suffocate in the meantime. No rush. When he finally _does_ roll off of her, she sucks in a breath so quickly that she nearly chokes on it, and her side _screams_ in protest as cough after cough racks through her. She can’t help the stupid tears that prick at the corners of her eyes, and the taste of blood fills her mouth.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Rhys suddenly swears, leaning back over and propping himself up with one arm on the opposite side of her. He uses his left hand to brush her hair back from her face, a surprisingly sweet gesture that she has trouble appreciating through the utter _misery_ she’s in right now.

“I am so, _so_ sorry,” he says, sounding so distraught that you would think he murdered her entire family instead of just having the misfortune of landing on top of her. “I didn’t mean- Did that- Are you going to be-” He wipes one of her escaped tears away, lower lip quivering. “...I’m sorry.”

Ugh. What a sap. She knows he can’t help it, but the last thing she needs right now is for him to get all mushy on her.

“It’s okay, Rhys. I’m fine,” she assures him with a wheeze, batting gently at his hand until he moves it away. “I just need a minute. And don’t start crying on me.”

It’s pitch black in here but he still has his hand light on, so she can see he’s already coming dangerously close to doing just that. Which is arguably even worse than the deep, resounding ache in her bones, so she starts pushing at his shoulders to get him to move. She wanted to keep lying here for a while- see if the pain would recede any more or if this is just her life now- but she can’t handle that _look_ he’s giving her. Like he’s blaming himself for the shitty structural integrity of this place’s ventilation system.

And, knowing him, he probably is.

“Help me up,” she tells him, struggling to get herself into a sitting position. It takes a few tries, but she eventually manages it with less excruciating pain than anticipated. Like yeah, it still _hurts_ , but nothing appears to be any more broken than it already was, at the very least.

Rhys scrambles to his feet to help pull her up, and once she’s upright again, she actually feels a little better than she was expecting. Her side still sort of feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it, but it’s nothing she can’t live with. She would kill a man for an Ibuprofen, though.

Fiona takes a quick look around at their surroundings and comes to the conclusion that they’re in some sort of old office. There’s a desk shoved in the corner with mountains of files sitting on top of it and a few cabinets nearby, all blanketed in a thick layer of dust and grime. It’s obvious that no one’s been in here for ages, and she doesn’t hear any commotion outside the door either. There definitely could have been worse places for them to fall through the ceiling.

Rhys is still watching her anxiously, like he expects her to fall back over at any moment.

“I’m _fine_ ,” she insists, suppressing a flinch as she twists just a _little_ too far to the side. “Really. Stop looking at me like that.”

He opens his mouth like he wants to disagree with her but then closes it again, and does that a few times before eventually settling on, “I- Okay.”

Shaking her head, Fiona grabs her walkie from her belt again and lifts it up to speak into the receiver. “Hey, kid? We’re in.”

A minute ticks by. Radio silence.

She sighs deeply, rubbing at her forehead. “This is, uh, Royal Flush to Black Sheep, come in, over.”

There’s a reply almost instantly. “ _Go ahead, Proudmoore._ ”

“We have... successfully infiltrated-”

“ _Right, you’re in the building. I got that. Where’s your location?_ ”

“Some kind of office?” Rhys guesses into his own radio, drifting over to the desk to inspect the loose papers on top. “There’s not much in here; old files, no computer...”

“ _Well, you could be describing about fifty different places on the first floor alone, so you’re going to have to be a little more specific than that. See what’s in the hallway. The block number should be on the wall somewhere._ ”

Fiona looks to Rhys uncertainly but all he offers is a shrug. She guesses they’re not going to get to where they need to be by hiding in here all day, so into the hallway it is. Picking her way over to the door, she cracks it just a little to see what’s on the other side. Half the lights out there are either busted or flickering so badly that they might as well be, but it’s still bright enough for her to be able to tell that nobody’s around. Making sure Rhys is right behind her, she exits the office and they let the door fall shut behind them.

Rhys deactivates his hand light thingy, and they take a look down the hall in both directions. There’s no numbers on the wall, but there _is_ an excessive amount of debris strewn everywhere, and also some alarmingly large puddles of what looks like fresh blood. Probably not all that out of place in a bandit compound, but it still puts her a little on edge.

“I don’t see a block number,” Fiona informs Flick over the radio. “Just more trash. No bandits either. It’s like a ghost town.”

“ _You might have to walk a ways to find it. You’re probably either in C or F block, the old office sectors. I won’t know for sure how to get you to the security room until you figure out which one, though._ ”

The blocks are lettered but they’re still called block _numbers_? Yeah, that makes perfect sense. Fiona searches for any sign of a letter and/or number on the wall at both ends of the hallway. Of course, it can’t be that easy, so she and Rhys settle on moving in the direction with the least amount of blood smeared over the walls to continue the hunt.

They move slowly, listening for any indication that there could be bandits roaming these halls too, but it’s completely silent except for their own footsteps and distant yelling that’s too far away to be of much concern. At every intersection they choose a random way to go, keeping their eyes peeled for anything that might tell them where they are. All these hallways look the same though, and Fiona’s starting to worry they’re just going in circles until Rhys suddenly stops beside a massive stain on the wall.

He starts rubbing at the dirt, tentatively at first, like he’s not sure if it’ll even come off, but once it does he scrubs at it faster. She has no idea what the hell he’s doing until he uncovers the bottom of this yellow stripe on the wall, and then she jumps in to help him until they uncover a giant ‘F-6’ painted over the cement.

Ohhh, so the letters have numbers _attached_ to them. Context really does make all the difference.

“Hey, we found it. We’re in block F-6,” Rhys says into his cute little cat walkie, wiping his hand off on his pants.

There’s no response so Fiona tries the silly code name thing again, but that doesn’t work either. What’s the kid supposed to be doing again? Stealing fingers for the print scanner? They might be in the middle of something right now, but there’s a chance something’s gone wrong too. They seem to fight well from a distance, but what if they get overwhelmed? Nobody would get out of a bandit dogpile, not even someone who’s not as, uh, vertically challenged as they are.

Just as she’s starting to think they should try to go look for them, their voice crackles across the walkie, breathless and muffled by static.

“ _Hey, sorry about that, I got-_ ”

“ _-and I dropped my-_ ”

“ _-but what you need to do is-_ ”

Fiona shakes her head, adjusting the dials on this thing to see if she can get a better signal. “We can’t hear you, kid. You’re fading in and out.”

They grumble something she doesn’t quite catch before raising their voice again.

“ _-seven, two lefts, three-”_

 _“-right, left. Did you-_ ”

They cut out again. Fiona looks to Rhys but he doesn’t seem to have understood either.

“What was that?” he asks, holding the speaker closer to his ear.

“ _Twenty-seven, two-_ ”

“ _-rights, left, right-_ ”

This is getting them nowhere. She’s about to give up asking for directions and just go to looking for it herself, but a lightbulb seems to go off for Rhys.

“Twenty-seven, two lefts, three rights, left, right, left?”

How in the hell did he manage to piece that together? She wonders if he just pulled that out of his ass until Flick comes back across with something that sounds like an affirmative.

“Meet us there,” Rhys tells them, “once you’re done doing... whatever it is that you’re doing. I can probably fix your radio if all you did was drop it.”

“ _I’m kind of-_ ”

“ _-a little stuck, but-_ ”

Fiona can’t help but feel a twinge of panic at that. “Did you say you’re stuck? Should we come help you?”

“ _-on’t worry, I’ve got it under-_ ”

“ _-security room, okay? I’ll see you soon._ ”

The line goes dead after that, and doesn’t come back on.

“Well,” Rhys starts, pocketing his walkie again. “Shit.”

“What should we do?” Fiona wonders, wringing her hands around anxiously. If they can get to the security room that’s all well and good, but if Flick is in trouble, shouldn’t they try to help? She and Rhys could probably figure a way out of here on their own if they really had to, but Fiona doesn’t like making a habit out of leaving friends behind.

Rhys looks a little unsure for a moment, like he’s weighing their options. “I think... we should stick to the plan for now? Sure, they said they were stuck, but they’re obviously not stuck enough that they couldn’t make contact with us. We don’t even know where they are anyway, so if we go looking for them, chances are we’ll just run into more trouble, which will make it that much harder to get out of here in, uh, one piece.”

He’s right, dammit. It’s better to keep their heads down if they can, especially considering she doesn’t have enough bullets deal with an entire base of bandits descending down on top of them if an alarm gets raised. Besides, she’s under the impression that part will come later when they’re making their getaway, and it’s surprisingly easier to avoid getting shot in the face when you’re in a vehicle than it is on foot.

“Right,” Fiona decides. “Security room it is. What were the directions again? Twenty... Thirty-something? Um...”

“Twenty-seven, two lefts, three rights, left, right, left,” Rhys rattles off the top of his head. She has no idea how he can remember all that. “I just... don’t know what the first number is supposed to be referring to. Is it- Is it the block number? Is there an F-27, do you think?”

No, that doesn’t sound right. This place didn’t look _that_ big from the outside. She wanders down the hall a bit, glancing around for clues. It’s clearly meant to be where they have to start from, but how are they supposed to know what twenty-seven means?

Something shiny beside one of the many closed doors lining the hallway catches her eye, a little plate screwed into the wall. Fiona steps up to it on a hunch, wiping at the grime to reveal a number etched into the metal. _Of course_.

“It’s the room number,” she tells Rhys. “This one’s fifteen. Check that one.”

She gestures towards the next one to her right and he dusts it off before peering at what’s engraved on it. “Seventeen.”

Alright, so they’re pretty close. They just have to follow the hall in the direction the numbers are ascending and they should find it, easy peasy.

“This way,” she says as she starts heading down the corridor. “Let’s go.”

They follow the trail, getting to the mid-twenties before the hallway branches into two. The first one they follow starts over again at one, so they check the other and sure enough, soon find themselves standing in front of room twenty-seven.

There’s a hallway directly across from the door, which Fiona assumes is the one they’re supposed to follow until the first right. Or left. Whatever it was. Rhys remembers. She lets him take the lead so she doesn’t wind up getting them all turned around, and they’re just about to round what she thinks is the last corner when they hear another pair of footsteps that aren’t their own.

Footsteps that are heading right towards them. Fast.

Fiona pushes open the closest door and yanks Rhys into it with her, reaching around him to close them in. She tries to back up to give him space but something that feels- and smells- suspiciously like a dusty old mop falls into her face. Even if it weren’t for that, she could probably wager a guess on what kind of room this is based on the overwhelming stench of mothballs alone.

Because of course she’d wind up dragging them into a goddamn broom closet. Not the most ideal spot to hide but it’s too late to find another one. It’s dark and smells bad and Rhys is stepping on her toes but they both hold their breath and stay put as the bandits outside get close enough that she can pick up on their conversation.

“-and that’s when I told him, I said, ‘Garrett, if you call me Big Richie one more time, I’m going to kill you _and_ myself.’ Everybody knows I go by Dick. Why not just use that instead of Richie? It’s disrespectful. I don’t even let my mom call me that.”

“So what happened?”

“He said, ‘If you say so, Big Richie.’ So I killed him. But I didn’t kill myself, because I’m already dead on the inside.”

“ _Nice_.”

Their footsteps fade down the hall again and both she and Rhys let out a sigh of relief.

“Poor Garrett,” Fiona muses as they extract themselves from the closet and stumble back into the hallway. “Took the joke just a little too far and he wound up paying for it.”

Rhys makes a thoughtful sound, taking a second to dust himself off before setting off towards the security room again. “That’s what he gets for messing with Big Dick.”

Fiona doesn’t laugh, because she’s not twelve.

...Okay, maybe she laughs a little bit.

When they finally arrive at their destination, Fiona’s shocked to see that somebody has already taken out the guards standing outside. The double doors are slightly ajar and the windows in the wall are all broken, but she doesn’t see anybody inside. Anybody who’s still alive, at least.

“Hey, guys.”

Fiona and Rhys both let out a shriek at the unexpected voice, spinning around to find Flick standing there with their dagger in one hand and a bloody sack in the other. What- How did they even-

They raise an eyebrow, wiping the knife off on their pants before sliding it into the back of their belt. “What, I’m not _that_ scary, am I?”

“Stop sneaking up on us like that!” Rhys tells them with a scowl. “God!”

Making a face, Flick pushes past them towards the security room doors. “Sorry. I’ll work on it. Come on, we have work to do and not a lot of time to do it in.”

Rhys rolls his eyes and follows them, and Fiona is right behind him. She cautiously eyes the bag in the kid’s hand, only a _little_ nervous at the amount of blood that’s dripping from it. They throw it down on the floor beside a large electronic console and she watches as a small, scarlet puddle forms underneath it.

“Hey, kid,” she pipes up before they can launch into whatever explanation they have for shutting down the security systems. “Mind telling me what’s in the bag?”

They look down at where she’s pointing. “Oh, that’s Reina.”

Um. Well. That’s a _way_ worse answer than she was expecting.

“Oh, _relax_ , I’m kidding!” They laugh at whatever horrified expression she’s making right now, shaking their head and bending down to root around in it for a few seconds before producing something from it. “It’s just her hand.”

Nope, okay, that’s even worse than the first one. They hold it out like it’s some sort of present, and, uh, yep, that’s a hand alright. Limp and bloody and jaggedly cut off above the wrist. Maybe she shouldn’t be so judgemental since she has some random guy’s eyeball in her pocket right now, but _that’s_ beyond creepy. Fiona moves backwards until her back hits the wall and Rhys looks just as- if not more- shaken up by it than she is.

“Why do you- What is even- What the hell is _that_ for?” he chokes out.

“Um, it’s for the print scanner?” they answer, like it should be the most obvious thing in the world. They flop the hand around a little, flinging blood across the floor. “It’s our way into the garage? Were you even listening at all?”

“I- uh. No- No, yeah, I was listening. I just wasn’t aware that part of the plan would involve lopping off body parts, that’s- that’s all.”

“What do you think a print scanner _is_?”

Fiona shakes her head. This is hardly the weirdest thing she’s ever experienced, but it definitely ranks up there in the top five. “You said a finger, kid. _One_ finger. A singular phalange.”

They shrug, tossing the disembodied hand back into the bag. “Well, now we have five. Just in case something happens to the other ones.”

“That doesn’t-” Fiona sighs and brings a hand up to massage her temple. “I’m sure Reina would have benefited more from keeping her hand than we benefit from taking it.”

Whoever the hell Reina is. She still doesn’t know.

“Well, Reina isn’t benefiting from anything anymore. I personally made sure of that, if you catch my drift.”

Oh, she catches it. She wishes she didn’t, but she does.

“Aaanyway.” Flick spins back around to the console that’s taking up most of the room. “This is where you’re going to overload the systems from. You’re going to have to do it right after I slap Reina’s hand on the scanner in order for everything to work correctly, so if you don’t mind...”

They dig their walkie talkie out of their pocket and hold it out for Rhys. It takes him a second to get over the whole hand thing enough to take it, but he quickly sets to work after that. She can tell from here that it’s pretty banged up, but Rhys does his best with it, popping the back off to inspect the wires before making some adjustments. Once he closes it up again, he hands it back to Flick, who tests it briefly and seems to be satisfied with the results.

“Not perfect, but it’ll do,” they announce, making Rhys frown.

“Gee, thanks so much, kid.”

They backtrack so quickly Fiona actually feels a little embarrassed for them. “I mean- That is to say-” they chuckle nervously, “It’s, um. Thank you. You’ve done me a great service, Bishop.”

They offer him a salute that he begrudgingly returns after a moment.

“Right, so I’m going to head down to the garage now,” they say as they retrieve the bloody bag from the floor. “See what you can do about the security systems and radio me when you’re ready to power them down.”

They start jogging out of the room and Fiona follows, leaning her head out of the doorway to call after them, “Where do we go when it’s done?”

“Follow this hall all the way down and take a left.” They spin around to walk backwards temporarily. “You won’t miss it. Oh and, uh, you might want to hurry. I sort of set the other wing of the prison on fire and it’s spreading fast, so.”

“You did _what_? Why the hell would you-”

“GoodluckdoyourbestIbelieveinyou!”

And with that, they disappear around the corner.

Well. That’s... not ideal. Fiona drifts back into the room, sidestepping a dead guard and coming to lean up against the console beside Rhys.

“What did they say?” he asks as he powers on the monitors.

“To follow the hall and take a left,” she repeats their directions. “Oh, and that they set the prison on fire. So we don’t have a lot of time.”

Rhys sighs deeply, rubbing at his eyes. “Excellent.”

The screens in front of them light up with a logo she’s never seen before; ‘Orcus’ in bold, capital letters. She remembers Flick mentioning that name the other night, but they talked about it with more bitterness than she would expect someone to feel towards some electronics manufacturer. It’s probably not the most important thing to be worrying about right now, so she catalogues it as a mental note for later.

Rhys navigates through the system as quickly as he can. Or she’s guessing he’s doing it as quickly as he can, because that’s what she would be doing if she was him. It looks pretty slow to her though, like he isn’t quite sure what he’s doing.

“Rhys?” she prompts him.

He shakes his head, typing something into the console. “This is, uh- I’ve never used this operating system before. It must be something new or- or... I don’t know. Maybe it’s, um-”

“Are you going to be able to shut it down?” she presses. “Because if not-”

“No,” he interrupts. “No, I can do it. I just need- It’s going to take a little bit of time. Don’t worry.” He glances over and actually _winks_ at her. “I got this.”

Well, he’s the computer expert, so she’ll leave him to it. Not like she would be of much help anyway, so she guesses she’ll just-

A figure dashes by outside in the hallway, and then another. Bandits. Running from the flames, no doubt.

“How much time are you going to need?” Fiona asks over her shoulder.

“Uh, I don’t know. A few minutes maybe? Why are you-”

“ _Hey_!” a voice booms from outside one of the windows. One of the bandits running by noticed them, and his shouting makes a few other ones stop as well. “You’re not supposed to be in there!”

Oh, shit. Fiona pulls the pistol Flick gave her out of the back of her pants and fires three shots in rapid succession, each hitting their intended target. They all fall over onto the ground, getting trampled by the crowd. Most keep running despite the gunfire, but some stop and start shooting at her in turn.

Both she and Rhys duck to the floor to avoid getting hit, and he spares her a panicked look. “Uh, Fi?”

“I got it!” she shouts, peeking back up to take out another one. There’s too many for her to keep her head up for very long, dammit. She needs cover, and so does Rhys if he’s going to keep working on the security systems.

She spies an abandoned desk in the corner. It’s a little short and probably nothing resembling bulletproof, but it’ll be better than nothing. Crawling over, she grabs an edge and starts yanking it over to the center of the room. Once it’s in place, she pops back up and shoots down two more bandits, giving Rhys the reprieve he needs to get back to work on the console.

But naturally, the stupidity doesn’t end there. She can smell the smoke now and hear the crackle of the fire echoing down the hallway, but these jackasses are _still_ stopping to shoot at her, like she’s the most dangerous thing to deal with right now. At one point, she runs out of ammo and tosses the pistol to the ground, grabbing another from a nearby corpse so she can continue to defend their position.

“Fiona?” Rhys eventually calls to her over the gunfire. “You... might want to take a look at this.”

“Kinda busy here, Rhys!” she yells back, ducking just in time to avoid a bullet to the face. “Just finish the job and let’s go!”

He doesn’t say anything after that. It takes a few more minutes but Rhys eventually radios Flick to let them know he’s ready, and they set off the chain reaction in tandem. He hits a button and all the lights flicker before going out completely, which adds yet another layer to the chaos.

“It’s done,” he tells Fiona as he ducks underneath the desk beside her. “I couldn’t- The security systems were hardwired into the power, so I had to shut everything off.”

She nods even though he probably can’t see it. “Let’s hope these bandits are as blind as they are stupid and get the hell out of here.”

Rhys doesn’t dare turn on his hand light lest they attract more attention to themselves. They leave the security room and weave their way around living and dead bodies alike, nearly smacking into the end of the hallway before the emergency lights kick on, which casts everything in a red hue. The air’s so smoggy that she’s nearly choking on it and Rhys is breathing just as heavily beside her. She takes him by the arm so they don’t lose each other and starts tugging him down the next hall, not really in the mood to die of oxygen deprivation like a jackass when freedom is so close she can almost taste it.

They eventually come across a long, heavy gate that replaces the wall, and there’s some kind of scanner built into the cement beside it. There’s also an abandoned bloody bag with a disembodied hand discarded on the floor nearby, so this must be the place. They keep moving further into the room where it opens up, and there’s plenty of tire marks and empty fuel cans on the floor, but no sign of any vehicles.

Or Flick.

Dammit. Shit. They keep moving towards the already open garage doors, stepping outside into the brisk night air and searching through all the moving bodies as if they might be able to pick the kid out from the crowd. If this was all just come clever ploy to steal a car for themselves and then ditch her and Rhys to take the fall, she _swears_ -

A jeep on a set of oversized tires suddenly rounds the corner, nearly running right into them. There’s no real doors on the vehicle to speak of, so Fiona’s quick to notice that it’s just Flick behind the wheel and not some asshole bandit that’s trying to squash them under the tires.

“Get in, losers, we’re committing grand theft auto,” they call out over the din of the chaos around them, somehow still managing to sound smug. Fiona has never wanted to kick their ass more than she does in this moment.

“Aren’t you a little young to drive?” Fiona jabs as she and Rhys hop up into the back seat. “Can your feet even reach the pedals?”

Flick snorts. “Oooh, so original. Never heard that one before. You think of that yourself?”

“Just drive,” Rhys cuts in, clearly not in the mood for this. No, yeah, there’s probably a better time and place for party banter. Preferably not in the middle of a prison yard that’s in the process of burning down.

“Manners, Goosie. Would it kill you to say please?” Flick sighs but obeys his request, although she has a feeling the alarming amount of bandits that are trying to jump up onto the jeep to hitch a ride is just as big a motivator to get the car moving.

The jeep jerks into motion and Flick watches the rearview for Rhys’ reaction, running over, like, ten bandits in the process, but he isn’t listening anymore. He turns slightly away from Fiona and brings something up on his palm interface, but the words are too tiny for her to make out from here. Whatever it is, it must be pretty interesting, because he doesn’t look up from it the entire way out of the compound. Flick drives them a good ways out from the prison, eventually turning off into a side pass and pulling over.

“This should be far enough out of the way to be safe, so we can make camp here for the night,” they explain, turning the key out of the ignition and pocketing it. “It’s getting pretty late anyway, and I don’t know about you guys, but I am _beat_ -”

“I need to talk to you,” Rhys interrupts, sounding unusually deadpan.

Rhys? Actually being serious about something? Never a good sign.

Flick turns around in the seat to look at him, confused. “Um. Okay?”

Fiona’s a bit baffled too. What’s up with him? She tries to make eye contact but he avoids her gaze, hopping out of the jeep and landing on the ground with a grunt.

Okay, this must be _really_ bad if he’s not participating in their fun little game of exchanging meaningful looks. Does it have something to do with whatever he was trying to show her back in the security room? She has a sneaking suspicion that it might.

She and Flick exit the vehicle as well, and Fiona makes her way around to the driver’s side to find Rhys leaning up against the side of the jeep with his arms crossed. He’s just watching the sky, expression so stony and impassive that it’s scaring her. She doesn’t like not knowing what he’s thinking.

Flick fidgets with the ends of their scarf. “What is this about?”

Rhys sighs heavily and he brings a hand up to rub at his jaw. “Let me read something to you and you can tell me if it sounds familiar, okay?”

Their face goes completely blank. “I don’t think that’s-”

Rhys interrupts by clearing his throat, activating his palm interface again and pulling up some kind of document on it. “Inmate profile number 40081. Citizen identifier E7P-99318. Common name, Kele Truong.”

Fiona looks to the kid with a start. Kele. That’s what Keanu called them, way back in Due East. She almost forgot about it since Rhys convinced her that it was probably nothing. But if he found a file under that name in the prison database, then doesn’t that mean...?

“Stop,” Flick enunciates slowly, glaring at Rhys. Their expression isn’t vacant anymore, it’s... something else. Something dark and twisted and angry.

“Oh no, I think I’ll finish. Known crimes include theft, assault, arson, and most notably, the murder of-”

“I said _stop_.”

“-the murder of their biological father and legal guardian, citizen identifiers C4J-786VZ and 2BP-300Y5, common names, Hau and Talia Truong, respectively.”

Oh.

That’s.

Fiona doesn’t know what that is. She’s frozen, unable to so much as even breathe. All she can do is continue to watch as this disaster unfolds in front of her.

“Should I continue?” Rhys asks mockingly. “That database was chock full of information, so there’s plenty of things that I would just _love_ to go over with you-”

“Fuck you,” Flick spits out, rage radiating off of them so thickly that it makes both her and Rhys flinch. “Fuck you and fuck your backwards sense of morality. Does knowing all this make you feel better? Do you think you did a good job, the- the _right_ thing? Digging up something that you had no _fucking_ right to-”

“ _I_ had no right?” Rhys laughs in disbelief, shaking his head. “It was just sitting there in that database, ripe for the taking. Did you really think I wouldn’t find it? But to answer your question, it does make me feel better. I had the right idea about you all along. I never wanted to trust you, and now I know why. You’re- You’re just- You’re sick. There’s something wrong with you. You killed your own _parents_.”

They advance on him so fast that he actually presses himself flatter against the side of the vehicle. “You _fucking_ \- You don’t know what happened. You weren’t even there. You’re crying and whining and kicking up a fuss about something that- that you don’t even _understand_ and can never hope to, but you’re going to pass judgement on it anyway?”

Rhys inclines his head. “Yes.”

Fiona’s heart wrenches in her chest. There’s more to this than meets the eye, there always is with stories like this. But he doesn’t seem to care- won’t even give them a _chance_ \- and it makes her wonder. How harshly would he judge her for the things she’s done in her past? To condemn the deed without knowing the reason is a dangerous line to walk.

He should know that.

Flick takes a few steps back, deflating a little. “I didn’t kill my parents.”

Rhys makes this noise like he doesn't believe them one bit. “Kinda sounds like something someone who killed their parents would say.”

“I-” They clench their hands into fists at their sides. “ _You_ of all people have no right to talk to me like that. You’re basing this whole idea on- on what some Orcus drone wrote about me in a file. On _hearsay_. I deserve more than that. I gave _you_ more than that.”

A beat passes.

There’s something unmistakably wrong about what they just said.

“So it’s true,” Rhys asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question. He’s already three steps ahead and Fiona is still trying to figure out _why_ that didn’t sound right in the first place.

“Rhys? What’s true?” She finally manages to say something past the knot in her throat as she leans forward to catch his gaze. He doesn’t look at her, refuses to really, so she glances over at the kid instead. “Flick?”

They spare a glimpse at her, panic and uncertainty written all over their face. They open their mouth like they want to say something, but nothing comes out.

Pushing off the jeep, Rhys stalks over to tower dangerously over them. “I’m not asking again. Is. It. True.”

Flick scoffs, but the facade is breaking. Before they were shaking in anger. Now they’re shaking with something else. “Do you really think you can intimidate me? I’ve spent my whole life dealing with people underestimating me just because of what I look like. Dealing with people like _you_.”

Rhys grabs them by the front of their cape and shoves them back hard enough to nearly knock them to the ground. “Just say it, goddammit!”

Fiona is momentarily frozen in shock. She has _never_ seen Rhys do something like that. He’s angry- no, he’s beyond angry, now he’s _furious_. He’s seething with so much rage that he’s trembling from it, and she has to _do_ something before this goes from bad to worse.

He doesn’t go after them as they pick themselves up but Fiona plants herself physically between the two of them anyway, grabbing Rhys firmly by the shoulders.

“You have to stop,” she pleads. “Whatever it is, whatever- whatever you’re talking about, this just isn’t the way-”

He leans around her to glare right at Flick. “Tell her.”

She glances back over her shoulder at the kid and they shake their head helplessly.

“Tell me _what_?” she demands after turning back to Rhys.

Rhys barks out another cold laugh, but the end of it sounds more like a sob.

“Just tell her,” he begs as he backs up out of Fiona’s grasp to lean up against the side of the jeep again. “I just- I can’t do it. Tell her. Please.”

He slides all the way to the ground and brings his knees up to bury his face in them, folding his arms over his head. She’s never seen him do anything like _that_ either. The shift in mood is so sudden that she feels like she has whiplash from it, and something painful curls up into the base of her throat.

“I-” Flick starts from behind her. She turns all the way around to face them, but they seem to be having trouble choking the words out. “I- I-” They fidget with their scarf, their cape, the cuff of their sleeve. “I don’t know... how to explain it.”

Fiona sighs, bringing a hand up to card her fingers through her hair. “Can you just... Can you try? Because I’m apparently a little out of the loop here and I’d appreciate being let back in.”

They tilt their head back like the sky might hold the answers, taking a deep breath before blowing it back out. “Do you remember what I said to you when- when I told you that you weren’t on Pandora anymore?”

She has to think about it for a second. “That... whatever brought us here-”

“-took you farther than you thought. Yeah.”

It’s quiet for a second, and Fiona scratches at the back of her head. “I don’t really see how that-”

“I think,” they start again, “that it took you even farther than _that_.”

She blinks a few times, not comprehending. “I don’t- I don’t understand. What does that mean, exactly?”

They bring both hands up to bury their face in their palms. “It sounds insane. I know it does.”

“No, wait, back up, I don’t-”

“The last Vault,” they talk over her, voice slightly muffled by their hands, “was opened forty-three years ago.”

They lapse into a heavy silence. No, that’s- That can’t be right. They just opened one, like, a week ago? And then there were three others just in the past decade or so alone. Is this place really so remote that they don’t know about any of them?

“Okay, so news doesn’t get here very fast, I get it, but-”

“No.” Flick shakes their head firmly and drops their hands. The look they give her- beseeching and plaintive and regretful all at once- causes a massive weight to descend upon her shoulders. No. This isn’t- That’s not-

“The last Vault was opened forty-three years ago,” they repeat slowly. “A group of Vault Hunters tried to take down the Monster, but they failed. Some didn’t make it. A year later, they tried again and succeeded. And when two of them went into the Vault to claim the treasure, they... never came back out.”

The world starts falling away, piece by piece. Or maybe it has been this whole time, and she only just now noticed it.

“That Vault was the Vault of the Traveler,” Flick continues, “and for the past forty-three years, you two were supposed to be dead.”

It’s like the ground is stolen from underneath her. She’s been on a precipice all along and this is the final shove off the edge. Everything she knew- everything she _thought_ she knew- it’s all gone, like a dream she can’t remember upon waking. The _one_ thing she thought she could trust; her own judgement. And it meant nothing, in the end. Everything meant nothing.

The only sound as her false reality comes crashing down around her is Rhys’ hysterical laughter and the wind whistling through the ravine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you all thought we were done with the angst. Haha. WRONG. Angst is my trap card. Remember that.  
> The biggest reason this took so long to come out is, well, because of the sheer length of it. I haven't had time to sit down and write it all until the past two weeks because I've been extremely busy lately. But fear not, for I will find time to continue this even if it kills me. It might not be a lot of time, but I will find it. Can't just leave it like this, can I? Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll have this finished by the time the next Borderlands game comes out and renders this entire work completely obsolete. One can only hope.  
> Oh! Another thing. If you're wondering what Flick actually looks like (since I've tweaked the wording of their descriptors probably about twenty times now) I drew up a little [visual reference](https://twitter.com/gutterspeech/status/944067818827534336). Mostly for my own sake, so I can stop arguing with myself back and forth over whether they have a hat or a hood. (It's the hat. Always the hat.)  
> Aaanyway, I hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday season and has a safe and happy New Year! 2018 is the year for time travel fix-its. Or something like that.


	5. Don't Look Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, this chapter clocks in at just over 50k. Yeah it's excessive. No I don't have any self control. Catch you on the flip side.

After his violent outburst finally dies out, nobody speaks for a long time.

Flick finds a spot on the opposite side of the clearing to plop themselves down and pretend to be occupied reviewing the map. Fiona seems to have grown roots, standing completely motionless except for her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. And Rhys, well... Rhys just tries to hold on to what few pieces of sanity he has left.

He leans back against the front tire of the jeep, letting his legs stretch straight out on the ground in front of him. Then he tilts his head back to watch the constellations above him blink and shimmer, hoping to find some small amount of comfort in it. But while the sky is impossibly vast and overcrowded with too many stars to count, it’s also... achingly empty.

Forty-three years since they opened the Vault. Forty-three _goddamn_ years.

Maybe he should have seen this coming. It might be the stuff of fever dreams and magicky fantasy novels and dated space-age movies with really bad CGI, but if a lightning storm can zap them clear across the universe right smack into Orion’s sandy armpit, then why the hell wouldn’t it be able to send them four decades into the future too? He can’t honestly say it ever crossed his mind as something that was plausible- or even remotely possible to begin with- but it makes a surprising, almost depressing amount of sense. Hell, it obviously wouldn’t have been called the Vault of the _Traveler_ for no reason.

It just would have been nice if somebody had thought to tack on something about the temporal aspect. For clarity’s sake.

Rhys chokes back a sob and buries his face in his hands. God. _Shit_. They are so completely, irrevocably screwed on every level imaginable. What was only supposed to be a fight against bad odds and distance has suddenly become something so, _so_ much more complicated than that. Half their lifetimes are just... gone. Everything they built for themselves, all their friends and family waiting for them back home...

“Were you ever going to say anything?” he suddenly addresses Flick, lifting his head and wiping at his eyes before he can spiral too deeply back into his abyss of despair. “Or was the plan to get us past your- your home away from home and send us on our merry way, none the wiser?”

The stupid kid ignores him, flipping around the paper on the ground in front of them and chewing at their thumbnail. Rhys finds a small piece of gravel nearby and pelts it at them to get their attention. They sigh heavily, raising their gaze to level him with a black look. “What?”

“Don’t _what_ me. The very least you could do is listen to me when I’m talking to you.”

They roll their eyes before turning back to their map. “Sorry, dad.”

“Oh, that’s real funny,” he drawls sarcastically. “Just answer the damn question, Judas.”

Flick shrugs with one shoulder, not bothering to raise their head. “What do you want me to say? It was never my responsibility to tell you. I saw you two fall out of the sky in my gorge, did my best to patch you up, and tried to help you get home instead of leaving you to die out there like anybody else would have done. I did my good deed about ten times over, alright? I didn’t ask for any of the rest of this.”

Wow. Just... wow. That’s probably the most selfish thing he’s ever heard. Rhys somehow frowns even harder than before, folding his arms over his chest. “Well, in case it wasn’t obvious, neither did we.”

“Didn’t you, though?” the wonder, sitting up to tap at their chin in a convincing display of thoughtfulness. “I dunno. I feel like you sort of did by opening that Vault in the first place. Do you have any idea how many people you killed? How much _suffering_ you caused, just by doing that?” They narrow their eyes. “Do you even care?”

Rhys opens his mouth to retort before registering what they just said. When it does sink in, his teeth snap back together. Right. He keeps forgetting his and Fiona’s lives are apparently common knowledge in this strange, new world they’ve found themselves in. Or at least the part of their lives involving the Vault.

“Everything we did, we only did because we had to. Whatever stories you’ve heard about what happened or- or about _us_ -”

“Oh, no, almost all of those are definitely crap.” They nod sagely in agreement. “It doesn’t matter, though. You opened the Vault. That was more than enough.”

He- What? That doesn’t even make sense. But he doesn’t get the chance to tell them as much because Fiona chooses this incredibly opportune moment to come to her senses. She fixes the kid with an unwavering stare, dread written all over her face.

“What are you talking about?” she asks quietly.

Flick silently regards both of them, gaze sliding from Fiona to Rhys and then back again. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

“Obviously, we don’t,” Rhys snaps icily.

“The geomagnetic disturbance that scorched half the planet of all life forty-three years ago,” they say slowly, like they’re explaining something to a small child. “That was your fault.”

Uh. What. “How the hell is that-”

“You two opened that Vault,” they continue, talking over him, “and reports of previously colonized planets suddenly turned uninhabitable came flooding in from every corner of the explored universe. Nona wasn’t the only one that got hit, and it wasn’t even the worst of the bunch. Mining colonies, scientific outposts, civilian communities... Nothing was spared. Entire solar systems went dark, and the casualties? Well. You’re both pretty smart people. You can do the math.”

It takes a minute for Rhys to fully comprehend the gravity of what they just said.

He... Oh.

That... doesn’t...

“Just more bodies for the pyre though, right? Not like you guys care. All that mattered to you was opening that stupid Vault.” They lean back on their palms, tilting their head to the side. “Was it worth it? Huh? Was it everything you ever dreamed of?”

Rhys doesn’t know what to say to that. To any of it. He’s so taken aback, all he can do for a minute or two is fumble mutely for the words until he eventually manages a weak, “We didn’t- How were we supposed to know that something like- something like _that_ would happen? You can’t just... It’s not fair to-”

“Ohhh, I don’t think you want to start a conversation with me about what’s _fair_ ,” they hiss spitefully. “Do you think it was fair when Orcus came out of the woodwork a few years after you two disappeared and started so-called ‘liberating’ all the planets that were affected by the Vault?”

Fiona looks so unsteady he’s worried she might actually collapse. “We weren’t-”

“Was it fair when they forced displaced refugees- able-bodied or not- into mining camps for all the new Eridium reserves? When they preached order and peace and fairness but turned around and made us into- into glorified _cattle_?”

“That’s-”

“What about when they started dragging people out of their beds in the middle of the night? Executing them in their own homes for even breathing a word about a rebellion? In front of their families, their _children_ , just to set an example?” They kick a plume of gravel off the ground in his and Fiona’s direction. “How about that? Does any of that sound _fair_ to you?”

Fiona goes chillingly quiet. Rhys feels like he’s heard this story before, just by a different name.

Flick laughs coldly after a short pause, opening their mouth like they intend to continue before promptly shutting it again with a shake of their head. They pull their knees up to their chest and scowl down at the ground in front of them, leaving Rhys and Fiona to fully absorb everything they just told them in silence.

This is all just... so much bigger than him. It’s so much bigger than he could have ever imagined it would be, and they’ve only just begun to scrape the surface. His bones are aching with the crushing weight of the kid’s rage and blame and it isn’t right, he thinks, he isn’t the one that should have to shoulder this burden. Not him, and definitely not Fiona, who looks so overcome with torment that his heart twinges at the sight of it.

They just... opened a Vault. That’s all they were trying to do. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

God. Every time he thinks he might finally be starting to understand the extent of his and Fiona’s situation, the damn kid turns around and blows any chance of that ever happening right out of the water. Like, surprise! Not only is everybody him and Fiona even remotely cared about probably dead and the exact manner of how they’re getting back to Pandora still up in the air, but they’re also apparently directly responsible for the destruction and/or oppression of entire galaxies! What a way to wrap up this magnificent Monday evening. Or whatever goddamn day it is. Certainly feels like a Monday.

It’s fine though, his existential dread was starting to peter out anyway. He needed this soul-crushing revelation to keep his morale right where it belongs; beaten to a bloody pulp and lying face down in the gutter.

“All this time,” Fiona starts after they’ve all stewed in painfully heavy silence for a bit. “All this time you knew us, you- you blamed and _resented_ us for something we had no choice in.”

“Oh, you had a choice,” Flick spits maliciously. “You just chose wrong.”

Rhys isn’t so sure about that. Had they known the consequences of opening the Vault...

No. He can’t even say for certain if they would have done things differently. The only reason they went after it in the first place was out of self preservation, but it became a matter of life or death for one of their closest friends. If they hadn’t opened the Vault, then they wouldn’t have been able to save Gortys, plain and simple.

Fiona appears to be having the same dilemma he is. But she shakes it off after a minute, crossing her arms and shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“Despite all of that, you still helped us,” she points out. “Why?”

“You were useful,” they claim, inclining their head. “I’ve tried to get into Killjoy on my own. Those jackoffs have been needing to get taken down a peg or two ever since they overran the place. I just never had a way to get out quickly enough before since it takes at least two people to override the security system for the garage.”

“Why not ask somebody else, then? If the bandits really were that big of a problem in Due East, I’m sure someone would have helped you.”

The kid huffs impatiently. “Don’t be stupid. Nancy Drew over there read my entire file out loud to the class. Everyone back home knows what I did. Or what the Protectorates said I did. You really think I live three hours away from the closest fresh water source because I want to?”

Fiona goes quiet for a moment. She watches them carefully, seemingly deep in thought. “No, it doesn’t add up. There’s something else you’re not saying. If you knew who we were and what had happened from the very beginning, you would have let that stupid snake eat us. All that crap about us being useful had to have come later.”

They snort and idly thumb a corner of the map still spread out in front of them. “I didn’t know from the very beginning, genius. I only figured it out after you started talking about _Vault_ this and _Pandora_ that. Although at first, I kinda thought you guys were, like, really avid cosplayers or something. Or just insane.”

“Oooh, okay,” Rhys pipes up with a scoff. “So you just knew _most_ of the time, then. Because that makes it sooo much better.”

They make a face at him. “Look, I’ve only ever heard fables about you guys and spoiler alert, you die in all of them. I was half convinced you weren’t even real people and suddenly you show up on my doorstep all burnt to a crisp and not looking a day past thirty? Don’t act like you wouldn’t have done the same thing I did. Didn’t you download some really dangerous, top secret file or something and then just... not tell anybody about it?”

It takes a second for Rhys to realize what the hell they’re even talking about.

Oh, no. No way. There is no way in hell they’re comparing their own situation to _that_. “That was- No. That’s not- That’s not even close to what happened. It was a lot more complicated than- than some _secret file_ , okay? It was- It was just-” He shakes his head. “It wasn’t like that. At all.”

Flick makes this noise like they don’t believe him one bit, but Fiona interrupts before he has a chance to defend himself further. “I hate to burst everybody’s bubble, but we’re getting off track here.”

“Tell that to your boyfriend,” they retort scathingly, “since he wants to throw his weight around like he has any room to judge me.”

Fiona largely ignores that comment in favor of pinching the bridge of her nose and squeezing her eyes shut. Rhys, however, lacks the amount of self control required to let it slide.

“Actually,” he starts, narrowing his eyes, “that's not really-”

Fiona sighs and lets her hand drop. “Everybody shut up. Here’s what we’re going to do.” She pauses, as if she’s thinking something over, and then nods once to herself before turning back to Flick. “You’re going to come with us.”

Um. What the hell? Has she completely lost her mind? After all the shit they just pulled, she really thinks they’d be a positive addition to the team? Rhys tries to catch her eye in a questioning glare, but she’s too busy staring the stupid kid down to notice.

Flick evidently isn’t a fan of the suggestion either, immediately losing any and all trace of smugness. “I’m... sorry?”

“You’re coming with us,” Fiona repeats plainly. “To Fides.”

Flick considers her absently for a moment before clasping their hands together in their lap. “No.”

“Yeah, see, you lost your negotiating privileges somewhere around the same time you decided not to tell us we’re stuck four decades past the present. So this is happening whether you like it or not, kid.”

Oh, Rhys _really_ doesn’t like where this is going. He pushes himself to his feet and makes his way over to where she’s standing to take her by the elbow so she’s forced to look at him. “What the hell are you doing?”

She scoffs, yanking her arm back. “Getting us off this dusty craphole of a planet by any means necessary. Is that okay with you?”

“I mean- I mean, yeah,” he says slowly, still not quite understanding what her game is here. “But we’re self-sufficient people, aren’t we? The only thing that tiny, parricidal asshole has to offer is bad jokes and verbal abuse. Neither of which we need to get home.”

“I _can_ hear you, you know,” said tiny, parricidal asshole pipes up indignantly, sounding vaguely offended.

Neither one of them bother responding. They just stare coldly at each other until Fiona throws her hands up. “We don’t know this planet like they do, Rhys. We don’t know anything about who or _what_ we’re up against or even how we’re supposed to get off-world in the first place. We could use their help.”

“Okay, sure, maybe, if their ‘help’ wasn’t actually some thinly disguised plot to- to just...” he scowls, gesturing vaguely, “do... _something_. I don’t know what, exactly, but it all feels pretty sinister.”

Fiona rolls her eyes. “If there was some well-thought-out conspiracy at work here, do you really think we’d be having this conversation right now?”

He looks at her blankly for a moment before scratching the back of his neck. “I... don’t follow.”

“ _Think_ about it. They obviously never intended for us to find out about the Vault. The only reason they even escorted us this far is because it was convenient for some ulterior motive. Now they have no self-serving reason to help us whatsoever, which is exactly why they’re perfect for the job.” She spins back around to face the kid, planting her hands on her hips. “Right?”

“Okay, um, again, going to have to say no to that,” they say firmly as they cross their arms. “Like I said, I’ve already done my part. You two got yourselves into this mess on your own, so you can get yourselves out of it. Preferably very, very far away from me.”

Obviously, that wasn’t what she wanted to hear, because she frowns so hard she gets this cute little dimple between her eyebrows. “You’re so full of shit.”

“I get that a lot.”

Fiona regards them quietly, stumped. But then a lightbulb seems to go off, and she leans back to fold her arms over her chest.

“Fine,” she relents unexpectedly, earning her a surprised look from Rhys. “Give us the keys and get out of here then, if that’s what you want.”

What, just like that? No way. She’s bluffing, she has to be, but she doesn’t show any sign of going back on it even as Flick hops up and strides over proudly to dump the key to the jeep into her open palm.

They don’t even say anything as they spin around on their heel and jaunt back over to where they were sitting to collect their things. They get everything situated and start making their way back down the pass, throwing up a peace sign over their shoulder as they disappear around the corner.

Rhys turns to Fiona, baffled. “What even-”

“They’ll be back,” she tells him, turning the key around in her fingers a few times before pocketing it.

“And you know that... how, exactly?”

“Because somewhere underneath all that selfishness and general jackassery, they have something resembling a conscience. Why else would they have bothered sticking around to explain everything? They could have bailed as soon as you brought up what you found in that database, but they didn’t. We might have been nothing more than a means to an end at first, but somewhere along the line, I think they started actually caring.” She looks to him and raises an eyebrow. “Tale as old as time, really.”

He’s... not so sure about any of that. But only time will tell. “How long are we supposed to wait?”

“I’d give it the night,” she guesses before heaving a sigh. “If they’re not back by morning, then I guess our only choice is to-”

“Leave for Fides without them,” he finishes for her.

“-hunt them down to the ends of the planet so I can at least get my hat back,” she says at the exact same time. Rhys levels her with a flat look and she snaps her fingers, giving him her best finger guns. “No, right, what you said.”

He can’t find a reason to fight her on this, so he decides to let it go for now. Although it probably has more to do with the fact that he feels dead on his feet than anything else. Leaving now would be great in theory, if the jeep could drive itself. But it can’t, for some stupid ass reason, because apparently nobody thought it prudent in the past forty-three years to invent intelligent, self-driving vehicles. Humanity really failed itself on that one.

Fiona volunteers to take first watch, but she looks worse than Rhys feels, so he’s not having any of it. They have to bicker back and forth over it for about ten minutes, naturally, but she finally concedes once he physically ushers her up into the back seat of the jeep. Once she lays down, she starts snoring almost instantly, which comes as somewhat of a relief. She hasn’t had one restful night of sleep since they got here, so she deserves the rest. Especially after the exhausting shitshow that was the entirety of today. Getting through Killjoy was its own endeavor, but all that emotionally loaded garbage Flick dumped on them didn’t help matters much either.

Besides, Rhys doesn’t think he could get to sleep even if he wanted to. It’s easy to ignore just how dire their circumstances really are when there’s someone to talk to or something stupid to argue about. But he’s alone now, his only company being the frigid wind blowing through the pass and the sound of his own breathing.

Eventually, he brings up his palm interface just to have something to do with himself. He’d managed to download a surprising amount of data from the prison database before he’d been forced to kill the systems, and he hadn’t had the chance to read through all of it when they were making their daring escape. It’s not like he really expects to find much else, since the entire archive is mostly comprised of daily reports, inmate profiles, and official correspondence from before the whole place was overthrown. Other than Flick’s impressive rap sheet and the fact that everything had been filed according to dates that, under any normal circumstances, should have been impossible, it’s mostly just boring bureaucratic crap. But it beats sitting here feeling sorry for himself, so he’ll take what he can get.

He goes as far back as possible, which is only about two decades or so. Parsing through the information, he tries to keep an eye out for anything that might be useful, but nothing stands out. He does manage to find Flick’s initial intake report from about nine years ago, which comes as a surprise. That would have made them, what, fourteen? That’s pretty young to be running around committing heinous acts of parental murder.

Although after he takes a closer look, Rhys notices that a lot of the details surrounding that specific incident have been redacted. The other crimes they were imprisoned for are strangely well documented, but the killings of their parents are summed up in about three sentences. From what he can gather, the neighbors heard screaming from the home and went to investigate. By the time they got there, the Protectorates- that’s what this place calls their soldiers, he’s guessing?- were already on scene and had found the kid hiding underneath the bed. All the evidence was extremely incriminating, so the arrest was made on the spot.

But there’s nothing else about it, no causes of death or possible motives. Meanwhile, everything else on their record is reported on so obsequiously that Rhys would even describe it as being superfluous. Like, why would anyone ever need to know that they once threatened a shopkeeper with a rusty spoon at exactly 13:48:06 on a Tuesday for stiffing them a few bucks on some herbal remedy? And how did the Protectorates or Orcus or whoever the hell is in charge here obtain that level of detail in the first place?

Odd. Very, very odd.

He snoops through their file for a little longer, but there’s not much more to see. They have some disciplinary notes for starting fights with other inmates and that’s about it. As he’s skimming those over- more out of boredom than any real pressing curiosity- a familiar name catches his eye.

Reina. The person they beheaded a guy just to find. He notices that she actually pops up multiple times now that he’s looking for her name specifically, almost always somehow involved in the handful of demerits Flick has on file. It’s not like he has anything better to do, so he searches her up in the archive, quickly locating the correct profile and pulling it up.

He’s... not entirely sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t a criminal record so long that he has to separate it into individual pages just to read the whole damn thing. The kid’s is _mild_ in comparison to this. There’s just report after report, offenses ranging from verbal threats to acts of mass homicide. Whoever Reina was, she clearly had no qualms against kicking up hell. No matter who it hurt.

After perusing through the profile, Rhys finds that there’s a folder attached to it. Curious, he opens it, and finds it’s full of something called AION logs. From the thumbnails, they appear to be similar to ECHO recordings. He opens the oldest one- dated a little over two years ago- and sits back against the rear tire of the jeep, making himself more comfortable on the cold, hard ground.

The screen is filled with static at first but clears away after a moment, and Rhys can make out what looks like the security room back at the prison. But less dirty and decrepit. And without all the bandit corpses.

A head pops up from the bottom of the screen, dark, deep set eyes blinking up at the camera.

“ _Oh! I think that fixed it,_ ” the figure says before standing up all the way. This is probably Reina, if he had to take a guess. She’s rather tall and a little on the scrawny side, and she doesn’t appear to be much older than Flick is now. Her hair is dark and cropped close to her neck in the back, with wispy bangs brushing over her forehead. She’s also wearing a plain gray t-shirt and identically colored sweats, both of which have an incomplete triangle emblem on them.

“ _So this is day fourteen of the aftermath,_ ” she starts, pulling over a chair to sit in front of the camera. “ _I figured I would take over the daily AION logs since all those shithead guards are dead or soon to be._ ”

She giggles, sounding a little unhinged, and reaches up to reorient the camera to show a pile of bodies in the corner that wasn’t in the frame before. They’re all dressed in pure white, so the blood soaked into their uniforms and pooled on the ground beneath them is that much more shockingly apparent.

“ _Look at them all! So pathetic._ ” The view pans over to the opposite side of the room where two more guards are propped against the wall, hands bound behind their backs and gags over their mouths. They’re still alive, he thinks, but only barely.

“ _These two are gonna get what’s coming to them later,_ ” Reina explains, setting the camera back down on the console and taking a seat again. “ _But not before I listen to them beg. That’s always the best part._ ”

What a gleaming ray of sunshine. Rhys is beginning to think Flick did the universe a favor by murdering her and stealing her hand.

Reina sighs on the screen, setting her elbows on the console and leaning her chin into her palms. “ _They’re not sending any more reinforcements after that last wave. I guess there’s too many of us to round up and there’s some big rebel movement going down on Decima right now, so we’re not exactly top priority. So good news! This rotting stink hole is mine now, and by the time I’m done with this place, they’re going to have a hell of a time getting it back_.”

She pushes herself backwards and spins around in her chair a couple times, humming in thought. “ _A lot of the weaker ones have left already. Even my stupid sister and her boyfriend bailed with those dumb dogs they found out in the yard, which I’m pretty sure is all that fun-sized piece of shit’s fault. They tried to leave right after Izzy and what’s-his-name did, but one of the jackoffs I put on guard duty got a hold of them before they got too far. Becker, I think? Or Banner? Something with a B. I dunno. He’s an asshole though. And he always smells bad. Like, dude, just take a shower for fuck’s sake._ ”

One of the guards off-screen starts groaning, making Reina whirl around. “ _Yeah, yeah, I know. It’ll all be over soon, don’t you worry. Just shut the hell up before I find another orifice to stick my knife into._ ”

The sound stops after a few seconds and Reina turns back to the camera. “ _What was I saying? Oh, right. Kel._ ” She pouts dramatically, crossing her arms over her chest. “ _I swear, they’ve been working against me since day one. They latched on to Izzy because she’s weak and impressionable, and they fed her lies to drive us apart. I should have guessed this would happen eventually, but I never thought I’d ever see the day my worthless sister grew enough of a spine to step out of my shadow._ ”

She goes quiet for a moment before shrugging. “ _Oh, well. She’s long gone now, probably to try to get off-world. I’d go after her, but I don’t need her anymore. All these assholes are kissing the ground I walk on now that my plan worked and the riots have died down, and even the stupidest ones are waaay more useful than Izzy ever was._ ”

Reina taps her chin with one finger. “ _As for Kel, I still dunno what I want to do with them. I had Bellamy throw them back in their old cell for now, and as fun as just leaving them to rot would be, I know I can do better than that. Come on, Riri, think!_ ” She ducks her head, massaging her temples in an exaggerated display of deep thought before leaning back in her chair with a sigh. “ _Whatever. It’ll come to me eventually. It’s not like they’re going anywhere. They can just keep carving those stupid tally marks into the walls every day until I figure it out.”_

Reina gets this bizarre smile on her face after saying that and tilts her head to the side. “ _Oooh. Actually, I think I just had an idea._ ”

Then she reaches up above the camera and the video cuts out, signaling the end of the log.

He... really doesn’t have the overwhelming desire to watch another one. The fact that Reina herself gives him the creeps notwithstanding, it feels invasive to pry even further into this when the nature of her and Flick’s relationship was so clearly, uh, not... good. And it’s not like these logs are going to provide further insight about anything that’s actually relevant to his interests, so it’s probably best if he just leaves them alone.

Rhys powers down his palm interface, letting his hand drop into his lap. Well, that killed, like, an hour maybe. Fiona’s still out like a light if the volume of her snoring is anything to go by. Which, on one hand, is a good thing, and he’s glad she’s getting the sleep she needs, but on the other hand.

He is so. Goddamn. Tired.

It... wouldn’t be completely terrible if he just shut his eyes for a minute or two, right? The past couple nights have been relatively uneventful anyway, so does someone _really_ need to be on watch all the time? Plus they’re pretty damn deep in the mountains, so it’s not like a giant snake is going to come slithering out of nowhere this time around.

Probably.

Truth be told, he might be a little more concerned about it if he wasn’t falling asleep just thinking the whole thing over. One second he’s weighing the pros of fulfilling a vital bodily function against the cons of possibly getting eaten in his sleep, and the next unconsciousness overtakes him, regardless of the fact that he’s still sitting upright.

He’s so exhausted that he doesn’t even dream. It’s just pure, blissful darkness, at least until he’s very rudely smacked back awake after what feels like about five minutes.

“What the fu-” A hand slaps over his mouth, and it tastes so much like dirt that he already knows who it is before he even opens his eyes.

Rhys heaves a very long, _very_ annoyed sigh as his nose, strangely enough, starts to itch. He reaches up to try and pry the stupid kid’s fingers off his mouth, but if anything, they clamp down even harder. They’re crouched so close to him they might as well be sitting in his lap, neck craned around to look at something over their shoulder. Looks like Fiona was right after all. Although they definitely could have announced their presence in a way that didn’t involve... whatever is happening right now.

“Will you get off me?” he demands, or tries to demand. It’s so muffled by their hand that it really doesn’t come out sounding anything like what he was trying to say, but it does get Flick’s attention. They spare one brief, pointed glare at him before returning to watching whatever’s so interesting behind them.

“If you don’t want to be slowly torn limb from limb and then ripped apart into tiny, itty-bitty pieces,” they start so quietly that Rhys almost misses it, “then I suggest shutting your big, dumb mouth.”

Um, what? Is that a threat? He’s about to ask when something at the opposite end of the clearing moves, catching his eye. It’s too dark to see much, a thick overcast of clouds smothering what little light the moons and stars provided beforehand. But after staring at the shadows for a few moments, he’s pretty sure there’s nothing there. Probably just imagining things, then.

As soon as he thinks that, it moves again. This time, he’s looking right at it, so he’s able to detect the outline of something... monstrous.

It’s... He doesn’t know what it is. Even now that he’s fully noticed it, it’s difficult to make out anything other than a silhouette. Every now and then, a sliver of light will filter between the clouds and catch the figure in just the right way, illuminating part of a feathered wing, or a small, bald head, or one of the many scaled tails winding around on the ground around it. He eventually concludes that it’s gi-freaking-normous too- maybe even bigger than Flick is- and he’s pretty sure those are long, razor-sharp fangs poking out of that beak. So that’s not encouraging.

“You see them?” the kid inquires lowly, turning their head just slightly to the side towards him without taking their eyes off the creature.

 _Them_? As in... more than one?

Now that he knows the general shape he needs to be looking for, he quickly locates another one right next to the first. And then another. And then _another_. All clustered at that end of the clearing in deep shadow, peering over at him and Flick with gleaming, blood-red eyes.

And then Rhys makes the mistake of looking up. There’s more up there too, perched on the craggy cliff walls around them. There’s got to be at least twenty- no, _thirty_ of them in total. All nearly motionless, poised to strike at any moment.

Well. Shit.

Flick finally removes their hand from over Rhys’ mouth, slowly sitting back on their haunches.

“What are they?” he asks as quietly as he can manage as the ones up above shift around, talons glinting in the moonlight.

“Gawkies,” they answer after a moment. “Scavengers, usually. They only go after living things if they’re desperate, but...” They look over, gesturing at him with one hand. “...I think _they_ think you’re already dead.”

He blinks stupidly at them a couple times. “What?”

“The smell. You both reek,” they explain impatiently. Oh, right, from getting showered with snake guts. He guesses they didn’t do as good a job at scrubbing out the stink as they thought.

Fiona suddenly lets out a particularly loud snore, apparently still sound asleep in the back seat of the jeep and completely unaware of how they’re all standing on the edge of disaster. Some of the gawkies trill in response, rearing up to flap their wings a couple times. Flick makes this face that can’t mean anything good and clutches something closer to them underneath their cloak.

“We have to get out of here,” they say, still quiet but with a noticeable touch of urgency that wasn’t there before.

Despite the overwhelming tension that’s threatening to explode at any moment, Rhys can’t help but roll his eyes. “Oh, so _now_ you want to come with us? I thought you were done helping now that we’re not useful anymore?”

Flick gives him a look that just screams murder. “Do you really want to have this conversation right now?”

Well, when the hell else are they supposed to have it?

Fiona snores again and the gawkies grow even more perturbed, throaty growls and high-pitched calls moving through the crowd. Flick is obviously troubled by the development, but still has the capacity to raise a questioning eyebrow at Rhys.

“Okay, fine,” he snaps after a second, much to their visible relief.

They slooowly stand up, keeping an eye on the clump of gawkies on the ground and glancing every now and then up at the ones above their heads. Once they’re on their feet, they turn to Rhys, nodding once to give him the go-ahead.

He starts pushing himself up carefully, trying to mimic the same speed they moved at. He’s a little clumsier than they are, not as light on his feet, but other than a few low hoots and some odd clicking sounds, he manages to stand up straight without causing too much of a disturbance.

Rhys is all proud of himself about it too, because that’s the kind of thing he would totally mess up even on a good day, and gives himself a nice, long mental pat on the back until Flick says, “You have the key, right?”

Oh, goddammit.

“You- I don’t- No. I don’t have the key. Why the hell would I have the key? You didn’t give it to me. You gave it to _her_.” He jerks his head towards Fiona, who’s still utterly oblivious to the world.

“Where did she put it, then?”

“Uh, I don’t know? In her pocket, I think?”

They give him a flat look. “Then get it out of her pocket and let’s go.”

Right. Sure. Because _that’s_ not going to be super weird and uncomfortable. But whatever, it probably beats what getting torn apart by a bunch of ugly ass birds would feel like.

Rhys gradually turns himself around, watching and listening for any sign that the gawkies are going to attack. They stare him down hungrily in return, like they’re just waiting for him to make the wrong move. He pulls himself up on the frame of the jeep, swaying a little as he clings to the side, which earns him a round of disgruntled calls from the flock.

“Easy,” Flick tells him, repositioning themselves between him and the gawkies. “I’ve got your back.”

Yes, well. That’s all good and reassuring, isn’t it? Especially after they just got done repeatedly stabbing him there. Metaphorically, maybe, but still. Shaking his head, Rhys tugs himself into the gap where the door should be to lean over the back seat. He can’t really sit since Fiona’s taking up the whole thing, half curled up on her side and facing the back of the seat, so he just sort of awkwardly stands on the frame and shakes her by the shoulder a few times in a futile attempt to rouse her to wakefulness.

She doesn’t even so much as twitch. Really. Of all the times for her to sleep like the dead, she chooses _now_? Rhys pulls her halfway onto her back and pats her on the cheek insistently, but that doesn’t get him anywhere either. Although now he can see that she was drooling a little when she was on her side, which is pretty cute.

Er. That’s. Hmm.

“Did you find it?” Flick asks over their shoulder, pulling his attention back to his task.

Shit, right. The key. Priorities, Rhys. Priorities.

Okay, well, since she won’t wake up, he’s just going to have to look for it himself. He pats down the outside of her coat first, more out of wishful thinking than anything else. He distinctly remembers her slipping it into her pants pocket, not her jacket, but maybe if he’s lucky, it will have magically materialized there anyway out of sheer force of will alone.

But all the pockets in her coat are empty, except for a tiny bottle of nail polish, a tube of lipstick, and a few crumpled up bills. Damn.

Sighing, he moves his hand a bit lower to search her pants pockets instead. He has to maneuver around her coat and the jacked up mess that is her belt- what is even going _on_ with this thing?- which, unfortunately, means that he has to loom over her in a very, uh, compromising position. He’s practically on top of her at this point, with the hand he’s not using to violate her personal space resting above her head to support his weight.

...Look, it beats the alternative of falling backwards on his ass, alright? That’s all.

And it would have been fine too, probably, had Fiona not started waking up as soon as he slips his hand into her pocket.

Rhys locates the key as fast as humanly possible and closes his fingers around it before yanking his hand back, but doesn’t have time to hop down to the ground or even stand up straight again before she’s rubbing at her eyes and blinking them open with a groan.

She doesn’t seem to notice that he’s hovering over her like a total weirdo at first, biting back a yawn and looking like she means to roll over and go back to sleep. But then she catches sight of his arm by her head, and follows it all the way up to his face, eyes going wide and cheeks flushing red and opening and closing her mouth a few times like she doesn’t quite know what to say.

They just stare at each other for an entirely inappropriate length of time before Rhys eventually manages to choke out, “Uh. Hi.”

“What,” she starts at a volume that’s _way_ too high to be safe, “the hell are you doing?”

He shushes her furiously, trying to do the same thing Flick did to him by covering her mouth to keep her from making too much noise. Turns out, she’s not a fan of that, thrashing around angrily and ignoring every attempt he makes to explain the situation to her until she eventually brings a hand up and smacks him over the ear so hard it starts ringing.

Rhys pulls back with a muffled shout out of reflex, whacking the back of his head on the frame of the jeep as Fiona sits up with an indignant huff. “Okay, you’ve done some pretty weird things in the past, Rhys, but this is on a whooole other level of-”

A single, avian shriek cuts her off, and then a chorus chimes in shortly after. Rhys spares a glance over his shoulder to find that the gawkies are almost as upset as Fiona is, flapping their wings and hopping up and down on the ground in a frenzy.

Fiona leans around him to see what’s going on, face falling when she sees just how outnumbered they are. “Oh, shit.”

Flick whirls around to scowl up at both of them. “Great. Now you’ve done it. Amazing job, you two. Really.”

Fiona’s gaze snaps to the kid like she’s just now noticing them standing there. “When did you-”

The gawkies screech again in tandem, louder and more clamorous than before. One breaks off from the cluster, beating its wings to gain some altitude before launching itself right towards them.

Flick pulls a throwing knife out of nowhere and sends it flying right into one of the creature’s eye sockets. Of which it has four, apparently. He can see that once its corpse skids to a stop at the kid’s feet. One pair is where they should be, and the other is on the underside of its beak, like someone sliced off the top halves of two birds and fused them together. What is with everything on this planet having multiple sets of eyes? Two is a good number. Two is a perfectly adequate amount of eyes to have.

“We have to go,” Flick says, kicking one of the gawkie’s tails off their boot. “Now.”

Fiona’s pulling herself into the front seat before they even finish talking, fumbling through her pockets frantically. “Dammit, where did I put the-”

Rhys slides along the frame to stand right next to her, wordlessly holding out the key to the jeep.

“-key,” she finishes, looking between it and him a couple times before realization dawns on her. “Oh, _that’s_ what you were doing. Why didn’t you just say that?”

Rhys rolls his eyes, gesturing for her to move over into the passenger seat. “Uh, I was trying, before you freaked out and _hit_ me. Which really hurt, by the way. Just putting that out there.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe next time you should just wake me up like a normal person.”

“Tried that,” he tells her as he slides into the driver’s seat and sticks the key in the ignition. “Didn’t work out.”

When the engine roars to life, that’s the last straw for the gawkies. They _scream_ in protest and most, if not all of them, take flight to start circling around overhead.

Flick spins on their heel and marches up to the driver’s side, steely determination written all over their face. “Go. I’ll catch up with you.”

“Ooor you could just get in the back?” Rhys suggests instead.

“These things don’t stop chasing their prey until it dies or they do,” Flick insists, whipping out another knife to take down a gawkie as it nosedives towards them. “Someone has to stay behind to take care of them. So _go_ , I’m not asking again. And here.”

They throw back their cloak to reveal a little orange cat under their arm. The same orange cat from Ember, if he’s not mistaken. It’s blinking up at him with shockingly yellow eyes, ears flicking back and forth like it’s trying to take in all the cacophony at once. Rhys is so flabbergasted that he almost misses it when the kid tosses the damn thing up into his lap.

“Keep him safe until I get back,” they tell him as they pull out their crossbow now that both hands are free.

“Have you just... been hiding this thing under your creepy vampire cape this whole time?” he demands, quickly passing the cat off to Fiona, who’s all too happy to take it.

Flick scoffs like he’s stupid for even asking. “No, of course not. I went back to Killjoy after I left and found him caught in the fence. He must have followed us from Ember. It’s not the first time it’s happened.” They kick at the front tire before taking a couple steps back. “Now go or we’re all dead. Just... don’t go too far, oka-”

They’re cut off when a gawkie swoops down, wicked sharp talons extended. They’re only barely able to duck out of the way and heft their crossbow around to shoot, and the bolt hits it so hard that the momentum is enough to send it flying across the clearing. And then something especially bizzare happens; its corpse suddenly changes trajectory, like something caught it in midair and brought it down to the ground.

But there’s nothing there. Or, at least, that’s what it seems like, until the air around the dead bird ripples and a large, feline-esque form appears out of literally nothing. It stands somewhat like a weasel might, low to the ground with its back slightly arched. Thick, speckled fur is interspersed with spots of glowing white, framing a quilled mane that runs the entire length of its spine. A long, almost feather-like tail swishes threateningly back and forth as it leans down low over its catch, and it bares its sharp fangs in a frightening hiss.

It’s ugly, basically, just like every other god forsaken creature on this planet. But it only has two eyes, so at least there’s that.

It raises its haunches and launches itself right at Flick, leaping into the air with a shiver of energy surging along its spine. The spots in its fur flare brighter for one moment before it disappears completely mid-jump. The kid dives out of the way just in time for it to reappear right where they were standing before, wicked claws swiping at the empty air.

“What are you waiting for?” they shout furiously, kicking themselves backwards along the ground and trying to reload their crossbow at the same time. “Just _go_!”

Every instinct Rhys has is screaming the same thing, but his conscience- busted, faulty thing that it is- has him paralyzed. He looks to Fiona for help but she doesn’t seem to be any more sure about what to do than he does, eyes glazed over and just clutching that stupid cat to her chest so tightly he’s not even sure how the thing is still breathing.

When the gawkies circling above start screaming again though, she snaps out of it and jumps into action. Shoving the cat back into Rhys’ lap, she readies her pistol and pulls herself halfway out of the vehicle. She fires three shots up into the swarm, and three birds fall to the ground, all landing with a sickening _thud_.

Fiona sits back down in her seat with a huff as the remaining gawkies turn their attention towards the jeep, and she pops the magazine out of her gun to count how many bullets she has left.

“Drive,” she orders.

Rhys spares one last withering glance over at Flick, who’s now on their feet and circling around that hideous quill-cat.

And then he throws the jeep into drive, yanking the wheel around before flooring it out of the side passage and into the wider part of the pass.

Most of the gawkies turn to give chase, beating their wings hard to keep up in vicious pursuit. Fiona leans out again to shoot at the ones that get too close as Rhys focuses on navigating the twists and turns of the canyon. And also keeping a hold on the squirmy little kitten in his arms. It’s pretty understandably freaked out right now, claws sinking further and further into his sleeve with every echoing gunshot and avian screech.

When she runs out of ammo, Fiona tosses the empty pistol into the back seat and switches to her Roshambo instead. She has to be a little stingier with her shots since she’s forced to take the time to reload in between them, but the added elemental effect more than makes up for it. Rhys can see the downed birds drop in the rearview, acid eating them away into bones.

He slows down as the flock starts to thin out, and then stops altogether once Fiona takes care of what seems to be the last one. She immediately hops out to investigate and he follows suit after shifting into park, coming to stand beside her behind the jeep.

“We should go back,” she says after a moment, staring off down the pass in the direction they came from. “Not all of them followed us, and that- that ferret... cat... _thing_...”

Rhys nods slowly in agreement. “Yeah.”

He hefts up the teeny cat in his arms, smoothing a hand over its ears in a way that must be comforting because it nuzzles against his chest and starts to purr.

And then he sneezes. Twice.

Rhys holds the stupid thing out as Fiona reholsters her gun. “Please take this.”

She rolls her eyes but obliges, carefully gathering it into her grip before pulling it close against her. “You’re such a baby, you know that?”

Once they’re back in their seats, Rhys meanuevers the car around to start driving back the way they came from. The visibility is still pretty bad even with the headlights, so they cruise along at a crawl to minimize the chance of running the kid over on accident. Just as they round a sharper corner of the pass, something _thumps_ against the hood. He doesn’t see anything but brakes hard anyway, sitting up straighter in his seat to see if he can make out whatever just hit them.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Fiona suddenly swears, evidently making out something from her side that isn’t in his line of sight.

Well. That’s not exactly promising.

She’s on the ground in a heartbeat, leaving the cat on the seat and rushing around the front of the vehicle. Rhys shuts the car off, leaving the headlights on and the keys in the ignition, and tries to ignore the pit of dread opening up right under his breastbone as he moves to follow her.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he sees as he comes around the corner of the jeep. The glare from the headlights is so bright compared to the shadowy night around them that he has to squint to see past it, and there’s Flick clinging to the front of the car like their life depends on it. That part comes as no great surprise. It’s actually a bit of a relief, as much as he hates to admit it.

It’s the incredibly dismal state that they’re in that renders him speechless.

That. Is a _lot_ of blood.

They’re shaking so badly that he’s not even sure how they’re managing to stay standing upright, let alone keeping a grip on the jeep strong enough to support themselves. Their hat is missing, their cape torn in places it wasn’t before, and their left sleeve is drenched scarlet, rivulets of blood dripping off to form a small pool on the ground by their feet.

And then they turn their head, revealing the truly horrifying amount of quills embedded in the entire left side of their face and scalp.

“Are you... okay?” Rhys chokes out, as if it isn’t already deeply, _painfully_ obvious that they’re not.

Flick somehow still has the capacity to hack out a laugh, trembling so hard with it that they nearly lose their footing. “You think this looks bad, you should see the other guy.”

Just as they say that, their knees buckle. Luckily, Fiona’s close enough to catch them and ease them more carefully to the ground, taking extra care to avoid touching the quills.

“Is- Is a lot of this yours?” Fiona asks a little shakily, unclasping the front of their cloak to take a better look at their arm. There’s quite a few quills stuck there too, right through the sleeve of their shirt along the side of their shoulder and bicep. But the worst of it seems to be concentrated along the left half of their face, clustered under their cheekbone and ranging up around their temple to just above the brow.

“I- I don’t really know. It just... hurts. A lot. So please get them out,” they wheeze with no small amount of effort, blinking up at her like they’re having trouble focusing on her face. They somehow managed to avoid getting hit over the eye at least, but that doesn’t do much to allay the panic bubbling up into the base of Rhys’ throat.

Fiona’s expression is stony, but her hands quiver as they flutter over the kid’s arm and torso, like she isn’t exactly sure what to do. Rhys wants to say something but doesn’t, because surely she has more experience with this sort of thing than he does? He’d probably just get in the way by trying to help. Or make things drastically worse than they already are.

But then Fiona starts reaching towards the quills, like she means to start pulling them out with her fingers, and he’s struck with such a sharp stab of alarm that he can’t stop himself from barking out, “ _Stop_.”

And she does, immediately snatching her hands back. Rhys kneels down to catch her eye then, and she looks so uncharacteristically unsure of herself that it actually makes him a little angry.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, because really, now is _not_ the time for her to start floundering around in self doubt.

She scowls over at him, like _he’s_ the one that almost started yanking those things out with his goddamn hands. “I’m trying to save a life here, Rhys, what the hell are _you_ doing?”

He rolls his eyes. Right. Okay. She’s clearly never dealt with something like this before. Fantastic. Picking himself up, he makes his way over to crouch down again beside her, nudging her to the side until she finally takes the hint and moves.

“Sure, fine, whatever,” she huffs, standing up and crossing her arms. “Go ahead, take a whack at it with all that medical training I’m so sure you have.”

He ignores her heckling in favor of locating the kid’s bag on the ground a few feet away and dragging it over. “Do you have any, uh, pliers in here, by any chance? Or- Or forceps, or something?”

They use their uninjured arm to reach over and direct him to one of the outside pockets. Inside is a worn, red pouch that Rhys quickly unzips and dumps on the ground. He digs through the resulting pile, setting aside long-expired bottles of antiseptic and various medical instruments he can’t put a name to until he eventually locates a hemostat that looks like it’ll do the trick.

Except it’s super gross and caked with... dirt? Or dried blood? Maybe both? Sighing, Rhys runs a hand through his hair and thinks for a second. It would kind of defeat the purpose of taking the quills out if doing that would give them a nasty infection anyway. He thinks he remembers something he saw in a movie once, and although he’s not exactly sure how well it would translate to real life, it’s got to be better than digging around in the kid’s face with a pair of dirty forceps.

It’s probably a long shot, but... “Have any vodka on you?”

“Oh my god,” Fiona groans, and he can hear her slap her own forehead. “You’re an idiot. You’re going to kill them.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” he snarks back, scowling up at her over his shoulder. “All this crap is expired and there’s nothing else here to clean this thing with. If you have any other ideas, Fiona, I’m open to suggestions, but otherwise I’d appreciate it if you-”

“Will you two,” Flick rasps out as they reach around to pull a bottle from their belt, “ _please_ shut up?”

They hold out the flask for Rhys, the liquid inside of it shining bright blue. Not vodka, but hopefully something that will kill all the bacteria on this thing. Rhys gingerly takes it from them, trying not to pout.

“It was a good idea,” he mumbles.

“No,” Fiona disagrees. “No, it wasn’t.”

After cleaning off the hemostat to the best of his ability, Rhys shifts around so he’s not blocking the light from the headlights. He takes one big, deep breath and holds it for a second before slowly blowing it back out. Okay. He can do this. He just has to... pull these things out without breaking them off under the kid’s skin. Or maiming them even further. No big deal. Total walk in the park.

He decides to start with their arm first, although having to work around the sleeve makes things a little more difficult. He suggests cutting it off to save time, which Flick vehemently opposes, because of course they do. Why would they ever consent to something that would make his life even a _little_ bit easier? He shouldn’t even be surprised.

Regardless of their noncompliance, Rhys makes good progress. Fiona rolls out a square of gauze for him to dump the removed quills onto before occupying herself with keeping that stupid cat from sticking its nose into the middle of things after it jumps out of the jeep to come over and investigate. By the time he’s done with their arm and shoulder, Rhys has settled into the rhythm of it, carefully tugging quill after quill from their skin with quick, clean motions.

“You’ve done this before,” Flick murmurs eventually, watching him as he tries to grab on to a particularly large quill stuck just above their eyebrow. “You have ghosties on Pandora?”

Rhys closes the forceps around the quill and yanks, making them flinch. “Ghosties?”

“Phantom cats,” they clarify. “The thing that- that did this to me? We call ‘em ghosties up north ‘cause they can, well, y’know.”

“Ah,” he says, shaking his head and discarding the removed quill onto the gauze before moving on to the next one. “No, we definitely don’t have those. I just had a dog when I was a kid that really liked trying to make friends with porcupines.”

There’s a lull as Rhys parts the hair on the side of their head to start working on the ones there, being extra careful to check for any smaller quills that might be hiding close to their scalp.

“What’re porcupines?” Flick wonders belatedly.

He’s... not really sure how to answer that question. How do you describe a porcupine to someone who’s never seen one before? “Uh, they’re kinda like... big rodents, I guess? With quills?”

“Weird,” they say. What, weirder than a big ass quill-cat that can go invisible at will? This kid has a pretty unorthodox standard of weird.

They go quiet after that, eyes sliding closed as Rhys continues pulling quill after quill out of their head. Once they’re all gone, he double and triple checks to make sure he didn’t miss any before finally sitting back with a deep, satisfied sigh. “Okay, I think that’s the last of th-”

His knees are wet.

Why are his knees wet.

He looks down. It’s hard to make out because the lighting right now is mediocre at best, but the ground underneath him is soaked through. And the ground underneath _Flick_ …

Rhys gently pushes them over onto their side on a hunch. Oh no. Oh no, no, _no_.

“Fiona,” he says lowly, not taking his eyes off their back. “Can- Can you come here, please?”

She’s sitting a little ways off from where him and Flick are, lavishing the kid’s cat with attention. But there must be something in his voice, because she immediately hops up and walks over to take a look at the sickening, _shredded_ mess that is the entirety of Flick’s back.

Four deep lacerations stretch from shoulder blade to lower back, their vest and undershirt both torn through like paper. They’re still bleeding, even now, though the flow has turned sluggish. Whether that’s because the wounds are clotting on their own or from lack of blood to lose, Rhys has no way of knowing. But he can take a guess.

“Fuck,” Fiona declares.

Rhys nods slowly in wholehearted agreement.

Flick takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, trying to turn their head to the side to see what’s going on. “What’s wrong?”

Shit. How in the hell are they even coherent enough to ask that question? It looks like there’s more blood spilled all over the ground than there could possibly be still flowing through their veins. Fiona drops to a crouch beside their head, pushing their hair out of the way so she can look them in the eye.

“Do I even want to know why you didn’t bother saying something about your back?”

They blink up at her a few times, confused. “It got my back too?”

“What do you- You don’t _feel_ that?”

“Um,” they say eloquently, and then trail off into something too unintelligible to make out.

Excellent. No, really, this is great. All that time they were just lying there, slowly bleeding out, because they were all too stupid to notice anything other than the immediately obvious problem. He hadn’t even _thought_ to look elsewhere, and now the kid is the one paying the price for it. As if it wasn’t already bad enough that the only reason this happened in the first place is because he and Fiona left without them.

Granted, that’s exactly what Flick repeatedly told them to do, but _he_ was the one who made the conscious decision to drive away. Could he have prevented this if he chose differently? _Would_ he have, if he’d known what was going to happen, even if it came at his own expense?

Maybe it doesn’t matter. Good intentions are rarely ever enough on their own, especially when someone's life is at stake.

Fiona stands up and makes her way over to where Rhys is still sitting, gesturing for him to scoot over. She kneels down again in his spot, pushing fabric out of the way to better expose the gashes on Flick’s back. There’s no way they’re going to be able to do anything about this. They’re too deep, layer after layer of muscle exposed to the air, and blood is _still_ seeping slowly over the swollen edges to run in rivers across their back.

Grimacing, Fiona leans over Flick to get their attention. “Please tell me you have some- some magical potion on that belt of yours to _fix_ all this, because if you don’t...”

It takes a minute, and Rhys isn’t sure they’re going to answer at first. But to both his and Fiona’s surprise, they start reaching towards their bag. He pulls it closer for them and they lazily unzip the main compartment, rooting around in it for what feels like forever before finally producing two rectangular vials that are sheathed in steel casing.

“This one’s for flesh wounds,” they hold out the first vial, labeled MEND-27, “and you just... spray it on. Real easy. This one’s a liiittle different,” the second one now, marked VITA-19, “‘cause you have to stab me with it. But it should help with- with the-”

“Right, okay, I got it.” Fiona grabs the vials from them, inspecting them both briefly in turn before setting the second one to the side. Then she uncaps the first and readies it over the kid’s back, giving it a few experimental pumps before holding down the nozzle all the way.

The effects of the funny-smelling mist are almost instant. The bleeding slows down dramatically before stopping altogether, clots forming miraculously on their own. Flesh starts pulling and knitting itself back together, gradually closing up over the gashes and scabbing over all in less than a minute.

Fiona makes an impressed noise as she continues the treatment. “Where the hell was this stuff when I sliced my knee open on a bunch of dirty glass and got tetanus?”

Yeah, no kidding. Rhys is dizzy from relief, though he can scarcely even believe it and he just watched the whole thing happen with his own two eyes. He doesn’t know what’s in those vials, exactly, but whatever it is, it just saved the kid’s life big time. The amount of blood they lost is still obviously an issue, but hopefully the second one will do something to help with that.

Soon enough, all that’s left of the lacerations are raised, pinkish welts that look tender to the touch, but are nowhere near as harrowing as the mortal wounds they had before. Fiona uses the last of the mystery medicine and tosses the empty vial to the side before reaching for the next one. The cap comes off the reveal a disturbingly long needle and she leans over Flick again, nudging at their shoulder a few times.

“Hey,” she says, shaking them a little harder when they don’t respond. “Hey, where am I supposed to stick this?”

They sigh deeply, like she’s causing some massive inconvenience to them by trying to pull them back from the brink of death. “Anywhere’s fine.”

Shrugging, Fiona scooches over to prep a spot on the outside of their thigh. Probably as good a spot as any. The needle sinks easily through their pants and deep into the muscle of their leg, and once it’s in place, Fiona presses down the button on the side with an audible _click_.

Unlike the first one, nothing immediately changes. Fiona gently rolls Flick onto their back again after tugging down their vest and shirt as best she can and sits back with Rhys to wait with bated breath.

It’s all extremely tense until Flick eventually breaks the silence by piping up, “It’s gonna take a while, weirdos. Stop staring at me.”

Both him and Fiona let out a sigh of relief. How the kid knows they’re being stared at when their eyes are shut tight is anyone’s guess, but the fact that they’re in a frame of mind to complain about it is a little encouraging. Fiona starts disinfecting the cuts left behind by the quills almost as an afterthought before grabbing the drawstring pouch from their belt to empty its contents into her hand. There’s not a lot of those little waxy leaves left, but Fiona splits the pile between herself and Rhys before popping her share into her mouth anyway.

Rhys tosses his back too and gets one good chew in before the revolting taste spreads into every nook and cranny of his mouth. _Eugh_ , this tastes awful. Like someone sprayed weed killer all over his tongue. But he keeps on grinding them down, despite his usual spit over swallow mantra he likes to live by, only spitting out the paste when Fiona gestures for him to do so on a square of gauze. Once she’s done spreading the salve over the cuts, she sits back on her palms with a weary sigh.

“There. That should do it, hopefully.” She nudges Flick’s side with her boot, making them grumble sleepily. “You hear that, kid? Can this count as our favor? Do I get my hat back now?”

Rhys rolls his eyes. Unbelievable. She’s unbelievable. “Really, Fiona? _That’s_ what you’re concerned about right now?”

She sticks her tongue out in a showcase display of her juvenile social skills. “I will never not be concerned about my hat, jackass, and you should know better than to suggest otherwise.”

Oooh, okay. So he’s the jackass in this situation, not her. Yeah, that makes perfect sense. He scoffs in her direction, to which she only smirks smugly. Like she has anything to be smug about.

They sit in silence for a little while longer, letting the rush of adrenaline gradually dissipate back into soreness and exhaustion. It occurs to him during this time that while he’s been partially blaming himself for his part in this unfortunate series of events, Flick wasn’t just a victim of circumstance. They had to have known what they were getting themselves into, and how easily it could have all gone to shit. Or, more to shit than it did, anyway. They could have easily died out here alone if Fiona and Rhys hadn’t backtracked to find them.

It makes him feel... complicated. Because on one hand, they lied. They lied and manipulated and _used_ both him and Fiona to further their own agenda. And they left when they were done without even so much as saying goodbye.

But then they came back.

That’s the part he still doesn’t understand. Maybe it’s all part of some bigger, more sophisticated plan that’s just so far over his head that he won’t see it until it’s too late. Or maybe they never meant to get tangled up in this affair at all, and they were simply passing through on their way to somewhere else.

Or maybe Fiona was right. Maybe this all started out as one thing and then became something else. Maybe it was never just that one thing to begin with, whether Flick wants to admit it or not. Maybe- just maybe- they actually _care_.

... _Pfft_ , nah. It’s probably not that.

Oh, well. The kid is an enigma and they seem to like it that way. And he can sit here and hypothesize what their true motivations are but he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to come close. All he can do is put his trust into the idea that they might have some common goal in mind and hope that Flick doesn’t break it. Again.

Once he’s sure they’re stable enough to be moved, Rhys stands up and brushes himself off before caaarefully picking Flick up off the ground. It’s not a particularly long or strenuous walk to the jeep, but the kid weighs a _lot_ more than he was expecting. Like, an actual metric ton. He nearly drops them more times than he would care to admit.

“You are, like,” he huffs as he struggles to lift them up into the back seat, “like three feet tall, maximum,” _huff_ , “so I really don’t understand,” _huff_ , “why you’re so _goddamn_ heavy.”

“It’s called mmmuscle mass,” they slur drowsily, rolling their head around to give him what can only be described as a shit-eating grin. “Maybe you should get some.”

He shakes his head as he finally gets them situated comfortably on the seat. “Yeah, maybe.”

Hopping down from the frame onto the ground, Rhys lets out a long, heavy breath and turns to lean back against the side of the jeep. _God_ , he’s tired, and today’s only just started. Or maybe yesterday never really ended. What time even _is_ it, anyway? He brings up his palm interface, which reads 13:57. And then he does the mental math and figures out the actual time is something around 4:30 in the morning. He really should fix the clock on this thing- it hasn’t been correct ever since he had to reboot his cybernetics- but it’s been so long since he’s had to touch the time settings that he just... doesn’t remember how to do it.

It’s also an ungodly hour in the morning, so he doesn’t really feel like messing around with it at the moment. He lets the interface deactivate and drops his hand, bringing up his left one to run his fingers through his hair. And then he notices he has blood smeared all over his palm, probably from leaning on the ground beside Flick. He starts rubbing at it, but it’s all dry and flaky, and by the time Fiona comes up right beside him with Flick’s bag in one hand and their cat in the other, all he’s managed to do is make his hand ache.

“Here.” She sets the stuff in her arms up on the seat and plops the cat on top of it. Then she unclips one of the canteens from the kid’s bag and holds it out to pour some water over his hands.

“Thanks,” he says, wiping away the rest of the blood. Fiona watches him as he does it, like she has something on her mind.

“That was nice, you know. What you did,” she eventually tells him. “De-quilling them and all.”

Was it? He’s not sure about that. It was necessary- the right thing to do, even- but _nice_? “Yeah, well. I wasn’t about to let your inexperienced ass do it.”

She scoffs, though not unkindly. It’s softer, or maybe she’s just tired. It’s always so hard to tell with her.

After talking it over, they come to the consensus that despite the depressingly early start to their day, they should start making their way south towards Fides. It should only take a day or two to get there with the jeep, assuming they don’t encounter any more enormous snake monsters or hideous carrion birds or disappearing quill-cats along the way. Which, given their track record so far, Rhys isn’t holding out much hope for. So making as much progress as possible while they can is that much more important.

Though it’s hard to say what they’re going to do once they get there. They don’t know anything about the place, and Flick isn’t in any state to shed some light on the subject. Best case scenario, they get off-world to, uh, Decima? He thinks? He’s pretty sure that’s the name of the planet Flick mentioned waaay back in Ember. But how they’re going to get back to Pandora from there is still just as big a mystery as it was the first day they got here.

And even if they _do_ somehow make it all the way back home in one piece, what are they going to do then? It’s been forty-three years since they opened the Vault. _Forty-three years_. Everything that ever mattered to them is probably all gone now, and every _one_ they even remotely cared about is more than likely either so far off the grid that they’ll never find them again, or...

No. He’s not even going to think it. Even if it’s an incredibly likely possibility, he just... nope. That’s a problem for Future Rhys to deal with. Right now, there’s bigger fish to fry.

Him and Fiona come to an agreement that she should take the wheel first, since he’s clearly unreliable when it comes to staying awake when sleep deprived. For the first four hours or so, she drives, and Rhys dozes in and out in the passenger seat with the kid’s stupid cat on his lap. He’s not entirely sure what Flick does- if they get some rest too or if they’re just back there staring at the roof of the jeep- but they stay quiet for most of the ride, only occasionally mumbling something under their breath that sounds more like sleep talking than any real attempt to make conversation.

Once they’re out of the mountain range and down on flatter ground again, they pick up some speed, no longer having to maneuver around the winding twists and turns of the pass. It’s warmer out here than it was in the mountains or even the desert before them, and the cloud cover up above finally parts to shine moonlight down on the steppes around them. It’s nice to see some actual dirt and grass for a change, even if it’s all whizzing by so fast that it just fades into a blur.

Eventually, Fiona stops the jeep so she can top off the tank with some gas from the back and switch places with Rhys. She wastes no time propping her feet up on the dash and reclining back in her seat once she’s settled, pulling the cat up against her chest and cuddling it like it’s a teddy bear. It doesn’t even care either, or squirm around like most cats probably would. It just purrs so loudly that Rhys can hear it over the engine and snuggles affectionately against her in return.

The whole thing is just... so infuriatingly cute that he has to stop and stare for a minute, which eventually gets Fiona’s attention.

“Are you going to drive?” she asks, lifting her head and raising an eyebrow.

“Uh,” he says articulately, and then shakes his head to clear it. “Yep.”

Fiona is way more amused by that than she should be, and Rhys turns back to the wheel so he doesn’t have to look at her. Must be his allergies making him an idiot. Yeah, that’s probably it.

About three more hours pass, the scenery gradually changing around them. Where there was once only grass, there are now low, creeping shrubs, which makes Rhys so excited that he’s actually startled by his own emotional response. He can’t say he’s ever thought he’d feel genuine happiness at seeing a bunch of bushes before, but where there are bushes, there’s a climate to sustain them. Which means that even after the sun comes back up, it won’t be like stepping into a kiln as soon as he walks outside. And it’s the little things like not sweating his ass off after ten seconds that really make all the difference, at the end of the day.

At one point, he hears what sounds like a roll of thunder in the distance. He looks up at the sky, spotting a clump of heavy, angry-looking clouds a ways off to the east. The jeep is moving so fast that he can’t tell if those clouds are blowing this way or not, but thunder continues to chase them as they speed across the plains.

“It’s going to rain,” Flick suddenly states from behind him, making him jump and nearly fall out of his seat.

He spares a dark look over his shoulder. They’re still on their back, but their eyes are wide open, watching him blankly.

“You have _got_ to stop doing that,” he tells them, turning back around. “Seriously.”

“We need to find shelter,” they insist. There’s a bunch of scuffling and Rhys glances in the rearview as they struggle to sit themselves upright. They’re quiet for a minute, and he thinks they might have passed out again or something until they lean forward to point at some distant hills off to the west. “There.”

“It’s just rain,” he says with a scoff as he very pointedly doesn’t change direction. “Getting a little wet never killed anybody.”

That makes them sigh deeply and flop back over onto the seat. “Lightning has.”

Oh, dammit. He didn’t even consider that. He’s gotten struck once already and still has the burns to prove it, so he’s not exactly itching to tempt fate again. Trying not to sulk, Rhys turns off towards the sloping ridge and takes a peek over at Fiona to find she’s sound asleep. Hopefully, he can wake her up this time without getting bitch-slapped halfway into next week. That might be expecting too much, though.

By the time they come up on a narrow crevice in the side of a steep hill, the storm has almost caught up to them. Flick volunteers to scout it out- or really, it’s more like they hop out of the jeep once Rhys slows down enough to stagger up the incline on their own. They move so unsteadily that he’s afraid they’re going to slip and fall, but they make it safely and return shortly thereafter, claiming it widens into a cave further in.

That’s good enough for him, since a light sprinkling of rain has started falling from the clouds. Rhys hops onto the ground, taking a second to stretch some of the stiffness from his legs. When he steps out from the relative cover of the jeep, a few raindrops immediately land on his face, and he can’t bite back a hiss as his skin starts to _burn_.

“What the hell?” he swears and ducks back close to the jeep for protection, wiping at the liquid with his sleeve. Flick is limping back over and once they’re close enough, he fixes them with a dirty look. “Why does this hurt?”

“Oh,” they say, like they forgot something trivial, like their coat or their house keys. “The rain’s acidic. Like, fatally so? Didn’t I mention that?”

Uh, no, they definitely didn’t. He’s pretty sure he would have remembered. Maybe he should cut them some slack since they’re still very obviously out of it, but still. That would have been a really nice thing to know about before now.

Rhys pulls his arms out of his coat so he can tug the fabric up over his head for cover as he makes his way around to join Flick on the passenger side of the jeep. They’re in the process of extracting their cat from Fiona’s arms, which, thankfully, does a decent job of waking her up. The kid tucks the animal safely under their cloak so it doesn’t get rained on before turning around to make their way back up the hill.

He watches them disappear into the cave before turning to face Fiona, who appears to have readjusted her position and is attempting to go back to sleep.

“Fi.” He pokes her in the side to get her attention. “Fi, you gotta move.”

She huffs, opening her eyes just enough to glare down coldly at him. Oooh, if looks could kill.

“I know, it’s terrible,” he muses with mock sympathy, patting her on the shoulder. “But you know what would be even more terrible? If you melted into a big puddle of goo all over this seat. It would be pretty disgusting, actually. And, uh, really painful, I’d imagine.”

“What are you talking about?” she asks through a yawn, sliding down further in her seat to stretch her arms above her head.

Rhys shifts his weight from one foot to the other, getting a little desperate now that the rain is starting to come down harder. “Um, well, we’re standing in the middle of an acid storm right now, and while I’d love to explain the exact science of that to you, I don’t know a goddamn thing about the wacky weather systems on this planet. I’m also pretty sure I don’t have the upper body strength to carry you, so. Please move.”

She blinks at him a few times. Evidently, the urgency of the situation just isn’t translating. “You don’t know unless you try.”

“Nope, no way.” He shakes his head firmly. “That would only end with broken bones and bruised egos and somebody crying. Probably me.”

Just like his high school prom, but without the awkward slow dancing. Or the after-party jager bombs.

After a brief but dramatic stare down, Fiona caves, much to his relief. She swings her legs around and slides down onto the ground with a grunt. As soon as she’s out, Rhys steps closer to include her under the cover his coat provides, turning it around and holding it out for her until she takes it herself. It’s not a long walk up to shelter but she probably needs it more than he does. Her own jacket only has a sleeve and a half and Flick is still hiding her hat in the deep, dark depths of their backpack. Probably cozied up right next to his stun baton and whatever other stolen personal items they definitely have in there.

Rhys lets his left hand come to rest on her lower back to guide her towards the crevice up ahead, using his opposite arm to shield his face from the rain as best he can. They stumble up the gravelly hill as quickly as possible, making it to the cave just in time for the rumblings of thunder to echo across the plains again.

The sound makes Fiona stop dead in her tracks and crane her neck around to look back out into the night. He tries to usher her further inside but she refuses to move until another flash of lightning lights up the sky nearby. The distant _crack_ that follows it makes her jump and stumble backwards, and Rhys catches her by the shoulders before she can lose her footing on the uneven terrain.

“Okay?” he asks once she’s steady, squeezing her arms.

She doesn’t meet his eyes, just nods and pushes past him to move farther into the cave. But he doesn’t miss the way her shoulders hike up around her neck as the far-off booms grow closer and closer.

Rhys turns to follow after a moment, and they pick their way through a short tunnel that opens up into a small, semi-circular cavern that branches off into three more passageways. Flick is on their back in the center of the room with one of those flashlight/lantern combo thingies sitting right beside them, providing a fair amount of light. Their cat is curled up on their chest, eyes nearly shut and purrs echoing throughout the room. The kid doesn’t move as both he and Fiona make their way past them, and the only reason he even knows they’re not dead is because they’re rubbing their fingers in slow, lazy circles behind the cat’s ears.

Fiona immediately drifts over to the farthest corner of the chamber and unceremoniously plops herself down. She pulls her legs up to her chest, tugging his coat tighter around her shoulders and burying her face in her knees. Which, uh, isn’t all that promising. Rhys slowly takes a seat beside her, watching in concern as she visibly tenses up when a distant peal of thunder sends vibrations through the ground beneath them.

“Fi,” he murmurs her name quietly, like it’ll break if he says it too loud.

She shakes her head, refusing to reply or even look at him.

It’s the thunder. That much is obvious. And it’s not a terribly uncommon fear to have, he doesn’t think, but the fact that _she_ has it is what’s surprising. This is Fiona he’s talking about. She’s not afraid of anything, ever, even the things that should, by all rights, terrify everybody. And yet even as he’s telling himself that, she withdraws further and further into herself as the storm outside grows worse with every passing minute.

Rhys is frozen, unsure of what to do. What _can_ he do, really? It’s thunder, goddammit, it’s the _weather_ , and he can’t do anything to make it stop no matter how badly he wants to. The feeling of being useless is not one that’s unfamiliar to him, but he doesn’t think it’s ever felt quite as bad as it does right now.

The final straw is when a blinding light flashes from the mouth of the cave and a deafening crash of thunder immediately follows it. The entire cavern quakes around them, chunks of rock shaking loose from the walls and clattering to the floor. Fiona’s on her feet in a heartbeat, eyes wide and tension rolling off of her in waves. And then it happens _again_ , which is enough to nearly set her off into hysterics.

She starts pacing the length of the room, ducking her head and clapping her hands over her ears in what he assumes is an attempt to block out the noise. But it’s on top of them now, there’s no escaping from it. Every subsequent _crack_ and _sizzle_ has her spiraling, stride getting faster, fingers digging even deeper into her hair.

He has to do something. He doesn’t know what, exactly, but _something_. He can’t just sit here and watch her self destruct.

Pushing himself to his feet, he tentatively moves into her path. She doesn’t even notice until she almost smacks right into him, and at that, she jerks her head up and gives him this look that’s nearly enough to tear his heart right into two.

“Move,” she begs. _Begs_.

“I- I-” he stammers stupidly before taking a breath to ground himself. “I want to help.”

“ _Help_?” she echoes incredulously, almost _angrily_ , expression twisting into something so dark and resentful that it sends another stab of pain right through his chest. “I don’t need your help. I’ve never needed your help, okay? You can take that- that condescending, self-righteous, fake concerned bullshit and shove it _right_ up your-”

There’s another crash and she’s on her knees, screaming furiously, “God _fucking_ dammit!”

A beat passes, heavy and silent except for the torrential downpour coming down outside.

“Fiona,” he tries again as he crouches down in front of her. “Let me help.”

“I _can’t_ ,” she chokes out, shaking her head vigorously. “I can’t. I can’t do this. I can’t.”

He... What? He doesn’t understand. He never does.

“What do you- What do you mean, you can’t?” He tries to catch her eye but she won’t cooperate, keeping her head down low. “Fi?”

She buries her face in her palms and takes one long, shaky breath, holding it for a minute until it comes rushing out all at once. “I can’t. I just- I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

“ _What_ can’t you do?”

She doesn’t elaborate, just keeps repeating herself over and over until Rhys sits back with a sigh. This isn’t helping her. He doesn’t want to do the wrong thing here, but how is he supposed to do anything at all when he’s not even completely sure what the root problem is? Is it really the weather outside, or was that just a catalyst for something deeper?

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know, and he feels like he should.

Thunder rumbles outside the lip of the cave, making Fiona tremble miserably. Brooding over it isn’t going to do her any favors, so Rhys decides to just go with his gut. It hasn’t always served him faithfully, but it’s the only thing he’s got right now other than sitting on his hands and doing nothing.

“Can you stand?” he asks her softly, and she nods after a moment, which is something. They get on their feet together and he veeery gently takes her wrists in his fingers, half afraid that just touching her will make it worse. But she lets him pull her hands away from her face, blinking up at him as built-up tears escape from her eyelashes. He uses his thumb to wipe away a few and then tucks a lock of hair behind her ear before regathering her hands into his.

Lightning strikes devastatingly close again and the clash that follows is enough to send Fiona lurching into his arms, twisting her fingers into the front of his shirt.

“Easy,” he says as soothingly as he possibly can, but it comes out shakier than he wanted it to. It’s harrowing to see her like this, much more than it probably should be. Winding one arm around her waist, he leads them a few steps backwards until his back hits the wall of the cavern. Then he eases them to the ground again, propping himself up against the stone behind him and letting his legs stretch straight out while Fiona sprawls out next to him and rests her head on his chest.

He keeps his arms around her, and her hands stay fisted in his shirt. And for a while, neither one of them speak, they just listen to the rain outside and their own breathing. Every time thunder grumbles, Fiona whimpers in return, and Rhys smooths a hand over the back of her head comfortingly until she stops.

“I can’t keep going like this,” she eventually croaks out with a sniffly huff.

Well. There’s a few more words to it this time, but he still isn’t sure what exactly it is she’s referring to. “What do you mean?”

She falls silent for so long that he’s under the impression she doesn’t plan on answering. Then she sits up suddenly, leveling him with the most deathly serious look he thinks he’s ever seen her make.

“They’re probably all dead, you know.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

He... doesn’t know what to say to that, at first. He just opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water until he eventually manages to spit out, “That’s- Don’t say that.”

“Why? It’s true, isn’t it?” Her expression starts to crumple, eyebrows drawing together and tears welling up again. “All of them, all our friends, everyone we ever knew-”

“Fi.”

“Gortys and Athena and Janey and August and Vaughn-”

“Fiona.”

“-and even- and even Sa-” A sob cuts her off and she claps a hand over her mouth to smother it into her palm.

He swears his heart stops beating in his chest, the sheer anguish written all over her face enough to steal his breath away. Her resolve is shattering right before his eyes, and the shards of it cut so deep into him that for a moment, he can’t say anything. He’s speechless, mute from the pain, the _agony_ of watching her bleed so openly before him. And he bleeds with her, despair and sorrow and grief all unfurling so readily inside of him that he’s paralyzed by it. Its roots sink deep into the marrow of his bones and breaks them one by one by one.

And then he takes a breath, because she can’t. He puts himself back together, so she doesn’t have to. He makes something out of nothing while she makes nothing out of everything and he hopes, prays, _begs_ it’ll be enough.

Rhys brings a hand up to touch the side of her face, brushing his thumb along her cheekbone. She’s startled by it at first, jerking her head away out of reflex. But then she sighs, leaning back into his palm and covering his fingers with her own.

“It’s... going to be okay,” he tells her quietly.

“How can you _say_ that?” she asks, eyes sliding closed and voice barely more than a whisper. “How can you say that even after all of this?”

Her skin is soft and damp under his touch, the warmth of her hand seeping into his. He doesn’t know how he can say it. He doesn’t know if he even really believes it, but he has to at least try. He made her a promise and he’s going to fight like hell to keep it, even if it kills him.

But he doesn’t say any of that. He doesn’t say anything, and maybe it’s better that way. He can’t convince her of something she doesn’t want to believe, of something she has every right _not_ to believe, and he’s fine with that. She settles back down into the crook of his arm and lays her head across his chest again, keeping her fingers twined with his.

“I just don’t know how we’re going to get through this,” she mumbles into his neck after they’ve sat in silence for a while.

“Like we always do,” he tells her simply, leaning his cheek against the top of her head. “Together.”

It’s not the most specific answer he could have given her, because truth be told, he doesn’t have the slightest clue how they’re supposed to claw their way out of this one either. But it must have been the right thing to say, or at least not the dreadfully wrong one. Fiona squeezes his fingers tighter for a moment before relaxing again, all the built up tension slowly loosening from her shoulders.

It probably helps that the storm outside has calmed down enough that the rumblings of thunder are too far off to bother her much. Although it still sounds like it’s raining cats and dogs.

At some point, she buries her face deeper into the front of his shirt, takes a long, deep breath in through her nose, and has the audacity to tell him, “You stink, Rhys.”

He rolls his eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t fall right out of his head. “And here I thought we were having a moment.”

“We were, somehow. In between the crushing reality that we’re stuck four decades past the present and the general hopelessness of ever getting things back to the way they were.”

“Right. In between all of that.”

She pulls away to make a face at him, scrunching up her nose in a way that should not be anywhere near as cute as it is. “But your B.O. ruined it.”

Rhys frowns and tugs her back into an embrace that she pretends to struggle against. “Yeah? Well, you don’t exactly smell like a bouquet of roses either. I think I’m even detecting a hint of-” he presses his nose into her hair and takes a nice, long whiff, “-of rotting corpse, is it? Maybe a little bit of mildew. And also a whooole lot of halitosis.”

“It’s probably just your upper lip,” she retorts, sounding vaguely pouty. “Stop sniffing me, weirdo.”

“Um, first of all, you sniffed me first,” he points out but angles his head away from her anyway. “But I’ll be all too happy to stop because- and I didn’t really notice before you said something- but frankly, Fiona, you reek.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Like so, _so_ bad.”

“Okay!” she announces, squirming around in his grip until he releases her. “Moment’s over, you ass.”

But it isn’t, not really. It lingers for a while, in the solemn quiet all around them. And then she slips her hand from his and longing aches in his chest, but he doesn’t dare break the silence to tell her.

Rhys keeps an eye on the clock as afternoon turns into evening, but the rain still doesn’t let up. Flick stays in the exact same spot they’ve been in this whole time, sprawled out on their back in the middle of the cavern. Their cat wanders off to prowl through the other tunnels, returning with this weird rat/bunny hybrid looking thing in its jaws that it tears into with ravenous ferocity. Which is definitely very gross, but it does remind both Rhys and Fiona of just how hungry _they_ are.

Fiona tries to prod the kid into wakefulness but they respond by rolling over onto their stomach and hiking their cloak up to cover their head. So she takes it upon herself to start rooting through their bag for food, soon returning with the dreaded baggies of glorified trail mix and this disappointed look on her face like she was sort of expecting to find her hat in there too. They swap theories over dinner about where the kid could possibly be hiding it, and the top hypothesis is they have the ability to open portals into the void and that’s where they keep all the important and/or stolen shit they don’t want anybody else to get their hands on.

Flick offers a sleepy grunt as their only comment, which isn’t a definite yes or no. He supposes some questions just aren’t meant to be answered.

Rhys gets what may just be the first full night of sleep since they got here, those two days he spent essentially comatose notwithstanding. By the time he wakes up, it’s well into the next morning, but much to his disdain, it’s still pouring acid from the heavens. He sincerely hopes that the rain doesn’t completely destroy the jeep, but Flick drowsily assures him that Nonans have long adapted to the unique precipitation and everything is built out of corrosive-resistant materials. But with less multisyllabic words. And more yawning.

While they’re content to sleep the day away, him and Fiona are bored out of their minds. Rhys finds himself regretting uninstalling solitaire on his palm interface, because as awful as he is at that game, at least it would have given him something to do. He even goes so far as to try to redownload it again but gets nothing but connection errors. Which doesn’t surprise him- _if_ the ECHOnet even still exists, there’s no way he’d be getting a signal way out here- but it’s still really disappointing. They turn to other methods to occupy themselves, most of which involve trading stories and taking naps and playing tic-tac-toe in the dirt. The hours tick by slowly but surely, and by the time they wake up again the next morning, the rain has finally stopped.

Rhys and Fiona are in the middle of breakfast when Flick suddenly bolts up straight out of their sleep, wide-eyed and looking the most alert they’ve been since they smacked Rhys awake the morning after they escaped Killjoy.

“You okay?” Fiona asks around a mouthful of dried fig, tilting her head to the side.

They slowly turn to look at her and blink a few times before their entire face scrunches up in pain.

“I really, really,” they start, hobbling to their feet, “ _really_. Have to pee.”

Rhys rolls his eyes. “Thanks so much for sharing.”

They limp off into one of the side tunnels to presumably go take care of that. It’s almost a concerning amount of time before they come back and when they do, they make a beeline right for their bag on the ground. They dig around for a moment before producing one of the biggest canteens of water they have. Then they proceed to down the entire thing in one go, which is such an impressive feat that it makes Rhys stop eating so he can stare. Once they’re finished, they toss the empty container to the ground and wipe their mouth with the back of their hand, staring absently at the wall for a minute until they make the same face they made before.

“I have to pee,” they say, because apparently they need to announce it every single time.

“What, again?” Fiona wonders.

They nod sagely as they stagger back towards the tunnel. “Again.”

Fiona looks to Rhys like he might know what the hell their problem is but all he can offer her is a shrug. He’s stopped trying to figure it out on his own. It’s just so much easier to just chalk it up to their overwhelming weirdness and call it a day.

They come back the second time looking... better. Not great, but not making that has-to-pee face anymore either. They look between Rhys, Fiona, their cat laying on the ground in between them, and all the stuff spread out on the floor a few times before bringing up a hand to scratch at the back of their head.

“So,” they start, planting their hands on their hips and turning to address him and Fiona properly. “Does someone want to tell me where the heck we are?”

Rhys and Fiona exchange a look.

“Do you... not remember what happened?” he asks tentatively, finishing off his breakfast and crumpling up the empty plastic in his hands.

“Not... really?” they say, but it sounds more like a question. “Let’s see... I remember... being very rudely kicked to the curb like a starving, mangy street cat-”

“You left of your own volition, actually,” Fiona points out, “but continue.”

“-and I was going to go home, but I got as far as Killjoy before I started feeling... um, what’s the word?”

“Guilty,” Fiona supplies helpfully.

“Yeah. That. About the whole not telling you guys about the Vault thing. And also abandoning you.” They cross the room to stoop down and scoop their cat off the floor, pulling it up against their chest. “And then I found Lucky here stuck in the fence because he’d apparently been following us all that time and had only just then decided to make an appearance. You sneaky rascal you.”

They’re cradling that thing like an infant and it just loves it, purring so loud the sound echoes through the entire chamber.

Flick sets it down again after a minute, and it weaves around their legs before sprawling lazily at their feet. “Then I thought to myself, well, if this isn’t a sign that I shouldn’t leave those two jackoffs to get themselves killed before morning, then I don’t know what is.”

“Jackoffs?” Rhys echoes with a scoff.

“Sorry,” they say, sounding way too flippant to be sincere. “Dumb and Dumber, respectively.”

“Which one’s Dumber?” Fiona asks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” they say while very obviously jerking their head in Rhys’ direction, making him frown. “Anyway, I got back just in time to see that I was right and you’d managed to attract half the gawkies on this side of the planet with your stench. Bathing, by the way, I really recommend it.”

Rhys sighs, getting impatient. “Will you just get to the point?”

“The last thing I really remember is... you guys driving away. After that it’s just flashes here and there.” They think about it a little longer before shaking their head. “So what happened?”

“Well,” Fiona starts, “we drove away and took most of those ugly birds with us. After they were gone, we went back for you.”

“Aww,” they coo, grinning toothily. “You guys are so stupid.”

“Yeah, well, it was our stupidity that saved you,” Rhys chimes in as he folds his arms over his chest. “You could hardly stand up when we found you. There was blood everywhere and quills all over the side of your head-”

“Wait. From the ghostie? Seriously?” They seem surprised to hear that, their hand automatically going to feel for the scrapes on their cheek.

He nods and brings one arm up to rest his chin in his hand. “After I de-quilled you, we found out it clawed your back to shreds too. It was... bad. We, uh. We didn’t think you were going to make it.”

There’s a somber pause before Fiona clears her throat and continues for him, “You pulled out these little steel vials with weird names, though, like- like-”

“MEND-27 and VITA-19,” they finish for her automatically, sounding a little stunned.

Fiona nods. “Yeah, that’s it. Just what in the hell was _in_ those, exactly? One minute you were bleeding to death out of wounds that would have taken months to heal normally and the next they were just... gone. Completely healed over. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

They bend their arm around to run their fingers over the lower portion of their back, no doubt feeling for the welts.

“It was medicine,” they reply after a second, as if that wasn’t already blatantly obvious, and then, “Orcus medicine, more specifically. They might be the actual worst thing to ever happen in the history of forever, but their tech is insanely advanced. It’s almost impossible to even get a hold of any of it up north. I only had that stuff because I bought it off Keanu a few months back, but I don’t know where he got it and I didn’t really want to ask.”

They suddenly make that expression again where their entire face scrunches up in discomfort. “It also has some... less than desirable side effects when stored incorrectly. Sorry, just-”

And off they go down the tunnel. Well, at least that explains that whole issue. Not that he really cared about it to begin with.

That does remind him of something, though. Not the overactive bladder dilemma, but that other thing they said. About the medicine being Orcus tech. That name keeps popping up everywhere, but Rhys still isn’t sure who or _what_ Orcus is, exactly. Flick said they swooped in after the Vault was opened to take advantage of all the new Eridium preserves, but where were they before that? And what else have they done since then?

Maybe it’s not important right now. They have enough to deal with just trying to get home without getting all tangled up in some foreign planet’s politics.

The kid comes back for the third time and immediately heads over to take a drink again, gulping down half of another canteen’s contents before looking back over to Rhys and Fiona.

“So you never really answered my question.” They screw the lid back on to the container before tossing it down on their bag. “Where are we right now?”

Rhys and Fiona glance at each other, but neither one of them knows what to say. How are they supposed to know? This isn’t their damn planet. They’re just unwilling tourists. Eventually, Fiona looks back up at Flick and shrugs heavily. “We don’t... know?”

“Okay,” they say slowly, bringing up a hand to rub their chin thoughtfully. “ _About_ where are we right now, do you think? Give me your best guess.”

“We’re still in the steppes,” Rhys offers, “but we’ve been stuck here for a day and a half because of the storm. It only broke sometime this morning.”

“Oh, so then we’re closer than I thought.” They bend down to start gathering up their things. “We should get a move on, then. We can probably make it to Fides today, if we hurry.”

“Today? Really?” Fiona hops up instantly, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Well, the outskirts. Getting _in_ will take some time because of the-” They shake their head and wave a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll explain it when we get there.”

They all collect themselves and start making their way out towards the jeep, which, much to Rhys’ surprise, is actually still intact. The paint shows signs of corrosion, but other than that, it starts up just fine. Flick takes the wheel while Fiona rides shotgun under the guise of being the navigator, but really, all she does is prop her feet up on the dash and use Rhys’ coat as a blanket so she can take a nap. She doesn’t even return it once she wakes up again either, she just slides her arms through the sleeves and wears it like it’s hers even though it’s multiple sizes too big for her.

He should probably ask for it back. That would be the normal thing to do, right? She’s a thief through and through so he doubts pleases and thank yous will do much to sway her if she really wants to keep it, but still. He should at least try.

Although truthfully, he doesn’t find himself overly upset at the thought of her stealing it from him. She’s already stolen a lot more than just his jacket, like, uh, his heart, for example. Or maybe he willingly gave that one away.

...Ugh. He’s just... _ugh_. No wonder he’s single.

The night around them whizzes past, and while they make good progress, they do have to stop more than usual for bathroom breaks. Which is annoying, and Rhys isn’t entirely sure how healthy it is for the kid to be peeing this goddamn much, but at least it seems to get better as the hours tick by. By the time flat steppes turn into hilly grasslands, Flick and Fiona switch places so the kid can actually do the job Fiona said she was going to do. They find dirt roads that wind around the terrain but stay out of sight of them as best they can, and Rhys can occasionally spot what looks like Eridium mining equipment in the distance.

When the ground starts turning swampy in places, Flick announces they’re getting close. There’s no sign of some big city on the horizon so Rhys isn’t sure how close ‘close’ is supposed to be, but Fiona slows down the jeep so the kid can get their bearings. It takes a while of driving around in circles and comparing the landmarks marked on the map to the scenery around them, but they eventually find the side road they’re looking for and travel along it until they come up on a small, squat structure in the middle of a bog.

It appears to be abandoned, with jagged holes in the stone walls instead of windows or a front door. The light from the headlights reflects oddly off the brambles and lichen creeping up the walls as they get closer, and once Fiona shuts the car off and they all hop onto the ground, the reeds beneath their feet become alive with bioluminescence.

Flick drags a hand over the tall grass curiously, leaving a trail of light in their wake. Then a breeze rolls through, igniting the whole meadow around them in a sea of reds and yellows and oranges that all slowly fade back into darkness once the wind grows still.

The kid huffs out a laugh, looking almost giddy as they continue playing with the reeds. “Cool.”

Fiona seems just as captivated by it, and even Rhys can’t resist pulling his hands through the grass as they pick their way towards the structure. It’s dark once they’re inside, and Rhys uses his palm interface as a light until Flick can dig out their flashlight/lantern thing to illuminate the room. It’s shockingly small and completely empty, with no real floor to speak of. Plants have started making their way in from outside, short, spiky grass poking out of the dirt in patches and moss climbing up the walls. Flick immediately makes their way to the farthest corner of the room and drops to their knees to begin digging in the dirt, quickly unearthing what looks like a steel briefcase with a number lock.

“What is that?” Fiona asks, setting the kid’s cat down on the ground when it starts to squirm around in her grip.

“It’s how we’re going to get into Fides,” they explain. “Basically, we have to send a transmission to the rebel movement inside to dispatch an intaker. If they’re not all dead by now, that is.”

“Why do we have to do that?” Rhys wonders.

“ _Because_ the only way you can get into the city is if you’re a documented citizen. Which you two aren’t. I also happen to be a wanted felon, in case you forgot, so there’s no way I’m getting in either without altering my record.”

Chewing on their lip for a few seconds, they pull the case into their lap to examine the lock. “Let’s see, I think it went... 16-15-13... No, wait. Death first, then Devil. And then...”

They put in the combination 16-13-15-07-11-00 and nothing happens. The kid scowls down at it, resetting the lock and trying again only to get the same result as before.

They’re quiet for a moment, deep in thought. “I could have sworn that was the right code. Tower, Death, Devil, Chariot, Judgement, Fool. 16-13-15-07-11-00.”

“Are you talking about tarot cards?” Fiona inquires as she leans up against the wall before sliding down to sit right beside them. “Because the eleventh card isn’t Judgement. It’s Justice.” Rhys gives her a funny look, to which she only shrugs. “Me and Sasha ran a psychic scam for a while. People looove getting their fortunes told.”

“Okay, but which one’s Judgement, then?” Flick butts in impatiently.

Fiona tilts her head back to think for a second. “Twenty? I think?”

The kid puts the combination in again, changing the second to last number accordingly. The lid immediately pops open to reveal a large, metal box with a few knobs and switches on the front. Flick heaves the device out of the case and sets in on the ground, powering it on and adjusting some of the dials until waves of static come out of the speakers.

“How did you even know this was here if you’ve never been this far past the mountains before?” Rhys asks as he takes a seat on the floor beside Fiona. “Or what the super secret code for the combination was?”

They’re silent for a minute, and Rhys starts thinking they’re just going to ignore him until they finally sit back and say, “Remember how I told you my map used to belong to somebody else? That person was Tali. I’m sure you remember her name from your snooping.”

His mind draws a blank before a lightbulb goes off. “Talia? Your... Your...”

“Stepmom. Yeah.”

There’s a painfully awkward pause before Rhys clears his throat. “What does that have to do with-”

“Tali worked with the rebel movement to help get people off-world who wouldn’t have been able to leave otherwise,” Flick talks over him, “so this place was marked on the map. She was the one who implemented this step into the process to throw Orcus off their scent, and she also made all those supply caches along the major routes to Fides to make the journey safer. It was a dangerous job, but she saved a lot of people by doing this.”

They take a deep breath and hold it momentarily before blowing it back out. “As for the code, she had me memorize it. It was a ‘just-in-case’ thing, I guess. Like, just- just in case something happened to her and my dad, she wanted me to still be able to...”

They trail off, hands stilling over the transmitter. And then they shake their head forcefully before returning to their task. “Have any more stupid questions or is that it?”

He has lots, actually, but maybe now isn’t the best time to ask them. The air is heavier than it was a minute ago, the sudden souring of their mood enough to make things palpably somber. The way they talked about Talia strikes him as strange, especially taking into consideration the murder charges on their record. Wouldn’t someone who killed their own parents be more... he doesn’t know, bitter? Or at least unhinged? There had to have been a reason for them to do it, at any rate, but there was no mistaking the faint notes of fondness and admiration in their tone.

Maybe they’re just a talented actor. Or there’s more to the crime than the bizarrely brief report in their file initially led him to believe.

The kid continues working on the transmitter with intense concentration until they finally seem to get all the knobs and switches set correctly to find the frequency they need. Then they pull another, smaller device out of the case before hooking it up to the radio. It somewhat resembles a code keyer, a theory that turns out to be correct when the kid starts using it to transmit tones across the channel. It’s not any code he’s familiar with, so he doesn’t know what kind of message they’re sending, exactly, but after a few minutes of doing that, they finish up the transmission and sit back against the wall.

“And now,” they say dramatically, “we wait.”

It’s well into the evening by the time there’s any sign that the transmission was received. They’re all either half or fully asleep by that point, lights out and dinner having long passed, when the tall grass outside suddenly starts rustling way too hard to be from just the wind. Rhys is the first one to notice, sitting up a little straighter and trying to kick Fiona’s foot to get her attention, but it’s too late. Two terrifyingly large, canine forms approach the doorway, eyes bright and teeth gleaming in the low, gloomy light.

They creep closer, every step in sync, heads low and ears flat to their heads. His pulse thrums so hard in his ears that he can barely hear his own breathing over it, fear coiled so tightly around his limbs that he couldn’t move even if he wanted to. The dogs break off from each other, one going to investigate Fiona’s snoring form while the other comes to stand threateningly over him. He tries to press himself flatter against the wall behind him out of reflex, but the dog shoves its snout right in his face and lets out a hot, heavy breath, a warning growl rumbling deep in its chest.

And he’s thinking, this is it, this is how he’s going to go. He’s going to get his throat ripped out by someone’s massive, slobbery dog because fate is cruel and punishes the young and conventionally attractive.

But then the other dog lets out a whine that makes the one standing above him whip its head around so fast that Rhys is amazed it doesn’t break its own neck. He breathes out a shaky sigh of relief as it turns around to trot over to where the other one is standing, which, as it just so happens, is right next to the goddamn kid.

Oh, shit. They nose curiously at Flick’s feet at first, but quickly move up to a more lethal area right around their jugular. Which is arguably even worse than when _he_ was the one about to get served with a death via dog sentence, because now he actually has an obligation to do something about it. Goddammit.

He jumps to his feet just in time for the dogs to start licking at Flick’s face, which is so alarming that he grabs for the fleshy part of the back of one’s neck without even thinking about it. The dog in question whirls around with a flash of teeth, nearly taking his fingers off, and crouches in a low, aggressive stance against him as it shivers with rage. It keeps its fangs bared as it slowly backs him into a corner, growling and snarling and leaving him cowering against the wall before turning back around to rejoin its companion.

Man’s best friend his _ass_.

The dogs’ continued licking is enough to rouse Flick awake pretty quickly, and they manage to get out a, “What the-” before both dogs bark happily and pounce right on top of them. Rhys fully expects them to tear into the kid with fervor and paint the walls with their blood, but much to his surprise, they don’t seem to be acting aggressively. If anything, he might even describe what they’re doing as downright _affectionate_.

Flick makes a noise of disgust while Rhys just watches the whole thing happen in bewilderment. He has... no idea what’s going on. His first thought was waaay off, so maybe he shouldn’t even try to guess. Flick shoves one of the dogs back far enough to get a better look at its face, and they must recognize the animal somehow because they frown almost unnaturally hard and mutter, “Oh, crap.”

Just then, a high-pitched whistle sounds from outside. “Luna! Sol!”

“Crap,” Flick repeats, pushing the dogs all the way off of them before scrambling to their feet. “Crap, crap, _crap_.”

“What’s crap?” Fiona asks blearily before Rhys has a chance to, rolling over and stifling a yawn against her hand.

Light spills in through the gap where the door should be, there and gone in less than a second. It disappears and reappears a few more times before a figure steps out of the reeds in front of the structure, flashlight in hand.

This... whoever this is approaches the doorway with caution, shining the light in through the gap. “Luna? Sol? Did you find somethi-”

The figure comes to a stop just inside the room, the beam from the flashlight resting entirely on Flick and the two dogs jumping excitedly at their feet. From this angle and in this light, Rhys can make out long hair pulled up into a ponytail and a tall, feminine build dressed in a high collared jacket and combat boots, but not much else.

Fiona’s sitting up halfway with her hand poised to draw her gun, but the stranger doesn’t appear to even notice her. Or Rhys. They- she?- only has eyes for Flick.

“ _Corazón_?” she whispers, voice wavering with disbelief. “Is- Is that really you?”

The kid sighs heavily, looking almost... sheepish? “I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

Nobody says anything for a few long, incredibly tense seconds.

And then the stranger drops her flashlight, _screeching_ in happiness and rushing forward to pull Flick into a crushing embrace.

“I don’t- I can’t believe- I thought you were-” She stops and starts over again so many times like she can’t decide on just one thing she wants to say. “It’s _you_!”

“It’s me,” the kid grumbles unhappily against her shoulder, entirely unaffected by her enthusiasm. But the dogs are joining in on all the merriment at least, barking joyfully and rearing up on their back legs to paw at the pair.

So. It’s official. This situation has now crossed over into bizarro territory.

Fiona looks just as weirded out as he is as she pushes herself up and moves around to grab Flick’s flashlight lantern from the ground. She flips it on and sets it down again before coming over to stand next to Rhys.

“What the hell is happening right now?” she asks him, as if he might have any more of a clue than she does.

“Trust me,” he tells her, watching the stranger run her fingers through the kid’s hair in a way that can only be described as heart-wrenchingly tender. “As soon as I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

Flick’s nose is scrunched up like all the attention is making them uncomfortable, but they tolerate it until the stranger cups their face and starts peppering their cheeks with kisses.

“ _Issaaa_ ,” they whine, which makes her giggle. And then she pulls back enough so she can lean down to plant a soft, fleeting kiss on their mouth instead.

Rhys rolls his eyes. Okay, he still doesn’t really get it, exactly, but he thinks he sees what’s going on here.

Fiona clears her throat a bit awkwardly, folding her arms in front of her. The stranger spares a glance over her shoulder, leaving Flick to stumble backwards out of her grip like they just got electrocuted or something. Rhys watches in something akin to concern as the color in their cheeks goes from pink to beet red in a matter of seconds. They reach for the wall behind them, sliding down onto the ground again- much to the dogs’ delight- before burying their face in their knees.

The stranger, however, doesn’t seem put off by the clearly affection-induced meltdown the kid is having right now, and instead turns all the way around to address Rhys and Fiona with a smile. “And who might you two be?”

Rhys does a double take now that he can properly make out the stranger’s face in the light. She looks... familiar. Something about her eyes, he thinks, dark and deep set. Or maybe it’s the shape of her face, or the way she cocks her head inquisitively when neither he nor Fiona reply to her question. He’s convinced he’s seen her before, but that’s just straight up impossible for a number of reasons, so why the hell does he-

Fiona pointedly nudges him in the ribs with her elbow. Right. She has to do her whole... weird, analytical thing of sizing somebody up before she can hold a conversation like a normal person. Sighing, Rhys shakes his head to clear it.

“I’m Rhys,” he introduces himself plainly before gesturing towards Fiona, “and that’s Fiona. She’s a little shy around strangers. Get to know her, though, and she never shuts up.”

That earns him a dirty look from Fiona, but the stranger just nods in understanding.

“I see,” she muses thoughtfully. And then she takes Rhys’ flesh hand into her own before raising it to her mouth, gently pecking the back of his knuckles. “At any rate, it’s... very nice to meet you.”

She smirks as she lowers his hand, fingers lingering just a little longer than they need to. Um. Is she...?

No. No way.

But then she turns to Fiona and does the same thing, lips ghosting over the back of her hand noticeably longer than they had over his. “And so _very_ nice to meet you, muñeca.”

Rhys frowns. Hard.

The stranger takes a step backwards as she looks between him and Fiona a few times. “I see Flick’s impeccable taste hasn’t changed.”

“Taste?” Fiona echoes, and then the implication behind that comment hits her. “Oh. Oh, no, that’s not- None of us are-”

The stranger raises an eyebrow. “Oh? I hope you’ll forgive me for being presumptuous, then.”

It might be the bad lighting, but he swears Fiona _blushes_. “Yeah. Sure.”

The stranger smiles coyly at her and looks like she means to say something else that’s probably perfectly eloquent and borderline flirtatious, but Rhys butts in before she can even get the first word out. Because, uh. Reasons.

“So!” he starts a little louder than he needs to, bringing the stranger up short. “Who are you?”

“Oh,” she says, blinking at him a few times but recovering quickly with a shake of her head. “Excuse my horrible manners. It’s been a long day, I’m afraid. My name is Isabel, and I believe you’ve already met Luna and Sol.”

She waves a hand towards the dogs that have now settled down enough to sprawl out on either side of Flick. They’re panting contently, pink tongues lolling from the sides of their mouths. Strangely enough, they don’t look nearly as dangerous and frightening as they did when they were looming threateningly over him like something straight out of his nightmares.

“I’m here to help get you into Fides,” Isabel continues, turning back to face him and Fiona. And then she raises an eyebrow. “You... _are_ the ones who sent the transmission, aren’t you? We hadn’t received a signal from this location in so long that we were worried it might be a trap.”

“It was us,” Fiona confirms. “No trap here. We just want off this stupid rock.”

Isabel nods, smiling graciously. “Good. I would have hated to have to kill you. Such, lovely, lovely faces under all that dirt and grime.”

She reaches up to gently touch Rhys’ cheek, tracing a finger from his cheekbone down the line of his jaw before turning to do the same thing to Fiona. Except slower. And more... sensually.

“Lovely,” she repeats when she’s done, stepping away just as quickly as she approached.

And his frown grows ever deeper.

“How,” Fiona starts and then clears her throat, clearly flustered- _flustered_!- “How is it that- that you and Flick know each other, exactly?”

“Ah,” Isabel says, glancing fondly back over her shoulder to where the kid is still sitting on the ground. “We have a... certain history.”

That’s... vague. And a little suggestive, just like everything else she’s said. He’s not sure he wants to know more.

Scratch that, he definitely doesn’t.

“Now, as much as I would love to just stand here and stare at both of you all night,” Isabel starts as she wanders over to kneel next to Flick on the ground, “it would be a much better use of all our times to get to the villa. It’s getting rather late, and I’m sure you’re all very tired.”

“Villa?” Rhys repeats. “We’re not going straight to Fides?”

Isabel sighs as she starts poking and prodding Flick to their feet. “I’m afraid I’ll need some time to assess your individual needs. Getting clearance into the city can be tricky. Really, mi corazón,” she turns back to Flick, “did you not find it prudent to tell them anything about the process?”

They don’t respond beyond huffing poutily and crossing their arms. Whatever the exact nature of their relationship may be, Isabel still clings to Flick like a magnet as they all move out of the little stone structure and back through the field of grass. Sol and Luna follow those two so closely that he doesn’t know how they’re not both tripping over the dogs, wave after wave of light rippling through the reeds as they hop and weave circles around the pair.

The group heads back towards where they left the jeep, only now there’s another, significantly shiner vehicle parked right next to it. It’s an all black, off-road SUV with actual doors and windows instead of just gaps in the frame where they should be. Isabel starts leading Flick over to it, glancing back at him and Fiona almost as an afterthought.

“Are you two alright with following us in that death mobile of yours?” she asks as she opens the back door of her SUV to let the dogs jump up into the seat. “It’s too risky to leave it here. Orcus would probably find it and launch an entire investigation to figure out just how a Killjoy technical got this far south, which would be rather troublesome to work around.”

So him and Fiona get the death mobile while Isabel and Flick get to travel in relative luxury. Yeah, that sounds about right.

It takes an hour or two of tailing Isabel’s SUV down winding dirt roads before they see anything resembling civilization. Moonlight shines down on Mediterranean-style estates that dot the landscape here and there, each one spaced far from the one before it. Some are huge, wide and multi-storied with sprawling, manicured grounds all around them. Others are more humble in size, but just as elegant and well-kept. While most appear to be empty- but not permanently uninhabited if the pristine state these properties are kept in is anything to go by- there is the occasional light shining from a window that lets him know they’re not completely alone out here anymore. Rhys isn’t sure if that’s comforting or not.

Isabel eventually turns off onto a long, gravel driveway, and Fiona spins the wheel around to follow. They make their bumpy way down the road until they finally come up on a large, two-story villa with a stucco facade. Two rotundas protrude from the front of the building on either side of the tall, ornate entryway, and arched, recessed windows stretch from what he’s guessing is floor to ceiling. Multi-colored, clay tiles cover the roof, offsetting the light cream of the walls with darker reds and browns.

They all hop out of their respective vehicles after pulling into the carport around the left side of the house, Rhys making sure to grab the kid’s stupid cat from where it’s sleeping in the back and the gun Fiona tossed back there a few days ago and then promptly forgot about. He hands it to her as they walk up the drive, waiting until she gets it tucked safely into the back of her pants before shoving the cat into her arms as well. Isabel jogs up the steps to the screen built into the wall by the door, inputting a twelve-digit passcode before it prompts for handprint and ocular recognition, and then finally unlocking the door with a verbal cue that he totally misses because he’s too goddamn exhausted at this point to even pretend to give a shit.

It’s dark as they step inside, but Isabel turns the foyer light on with a spoken command to reveal an entryway just as luxurious as the outside of the house. A sweeping grand staircase takes up the middle of the room, branching off at the landing and winding around in a circle to the second story above their heads. Marble tile covers the floor and the walls are made of white stone, intricate crown molding matching the blank color palette. In fact, the only thing in this room that _isn’t_ white is the steps themselves and the railing on the staircase, both painted black as the night sky outside.

It sort of reminds him of a hospital, actually, cold and sterile and unfeeling. He has this vaguely uncomfortable feeling like he’s going to make everything dirty just by looking at it.

“We’ll sit down and discuss how to get you three into Fides in the morning, after everyone’s gotten some rest,” Isabel tells them, turning around to walk backwards as she pulls Flick insistently towards the staircase. “You can pick whichever rooms you like. Most of them have their own bathrooms, so I heavily encourage making use of those before you track mud all over the rest of the house.”

Passive aggressive, but not entirely undeserved. Isabel and Flick disappear upstairs without another word, leaving Rhys and Fiona to gawk in silence for a little while longer before he eventually says, “I am so confused right now.”

Fiona sighs, setting the kid’s cat down on the floor only for it to trot off in the same direction Isabel’s dogs went. “So am I, but she had me at the mention of indoor plumbing.”

Ascending the staircase, they pick out the first two rooms they come across. He watches Fiona slip into hers and shut the door behind her before entering his own, repeating the command Isabel used in the foyer to turn on the lights. The room is bigger than he’s expecting, with the same marble floor and white walls that echo throughout the whole house. There’s a wide bed on a floating platform built into the wall and a long, horizontal mirror made of individual glass hexagons hanging above it. He catches his reflection in those, actually getting a good look at himself for the first time in about a week and a half, and can’t suppress the inevitable crushing despair that comes with seeing the sorry state he’s been in.

Has his hair really looked like that this entire time? And _no one_ told him?

No, this is unacceptable. Rhys turns around towards the only other door in the room and pushes it open, stepping into a large, unnervingly monochrome bathroom as he kicks off his shoes. It takes a while of messing with the controls on the screen beside the shower before he can even get water to come out of the long, wide panel built into the ceiling, let alone get it set to a comfortable temperature. But once he finally does, Rhys peels off the last of his clothes and slides the glass door open to step inside, letting the water wash over him.

All the caked on dirt and dried blood starts coming off, water turning reddish-brown as it runs off of him to swirl down the drain. Which is all great and fine, but what he _really_ needs is soap. There’s no bottles of it sitting around though, so Rhys turns to the control panel set into the wall that’s identical to the one on the outside of the shower. Maybe there’s some kind of...

He taps a button on the screen and the water turns almost sweet-smelling, lathering up into bubbles on his skin. Huh. Well, that’s convenient. It doesn’t even burn as it gets in his eyes. Self-driving cars still would have been a better thing to spend the last four decades perfecting, but he guesses non-irritating soap water is pretty okay too.

Rhys spends so long scrubbing himself down that he’s all pruney by the time he gets out. He stops to fold up his filthy clothes and takes them back out into the bedroom to put them on a plush armchair- since there’s no way in hell he’s putting those back on right now- before turning to find a set of white pajamas waiting for him on the bed.

Or, really, it’s just a t-shirt and a pair of sweats that fit him freakishly well, which is still weird. Who even left these here? He didn’t hear anybody come in, but that might be because he’s so tired he’s struggling to keep his eyes open.

Rhys flops down onto the insanely soft bed and lazily crawls under the covers, turning off the lights before burying his face in a pillow. Whatever. He can figure it out later, probably.

He doesn’t dream, thankfully, just falls into a sleep so deep that the world could be ending and it probably wouldn’t wake him up. Or so he thinks, until something heavy lands right on his chest and something else smacks him right across the face, effectively yanking him back into the waking world much sooner than he’d prefer.

His eyes fly open, hands raising to protect himself out of reflex before he catches sight of green eyes and a streak of red hair. It still takes a second for his brain to completely process that he’s _not_ , in fact, about to be gruesomely executed in his sleep by some highly trained assassin. Unless said highly trained assassin also happens to be a mischievous con artist slash heart thief slash major pain in his ass.

Rhys looks up at Fiona, taking in everything from the t-shirt and sweats she has on that are identical to his to the fact that she’s literally straddling his chest right now. And then he takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and asks, “Why?”

“Because I’ve been trying to wake you up for five minutes and nothing else was working,” she says, sitting back with a pout and, very noticeably, not moving off of him. “I was getting worried you’d gone and pricked your finger on a spindle or something.”

His verbal filter must not be awake and functioning yet because he finds himself saying, “Maybe you should have tried kissing me.”

“Oh, that’s real cute.” She scoffs, grabbing one of the pillows next to them and _thwacking_ him in the face with it. “Just get up, jackass. We’ve been waiting for you for over an hour.”

“My god, over an _hour_ ,” he echoes sarcastically as he shoves the pillow off his head. “How will you ever manage to survive such a tragedy?”

Sliding off the bed, Fiona flips him off and walks backwards so she can keep doing it the entire way out of the room.

He’s tempted to go back to sleep to spite her, but that would probably just result in getting slapped awake again. He doesn’t know why everybody’s doing that to him now, but it has to stop. His poor face can’t take much more of this.

He eventually scrapes together the motivation to get out of bed, straightening the covers and rearranging the pillows to his liking before catching his reflection in the mirror. His hair dried a little funny since he slept on it while it was still wet, but at least it isn’t the absolute bird’s nest it was last night. He contemplates hopping back in the shower just to wet it down again, but Fiona calls his name insistently from what he’s guessing is downstairs, voice carrying easily through the immaculate halls.

So, unfortunately, his hair is going to have to wait.

He tiptoes his way down the steps and into the foyer, tile floor ice cold against the bottoms of his bare feet. He heads towards the archway he can hear the noise of conversation coming from and finds himself in a kitchen, counters and cabinets and appliances just as white as the rest of the house. Fiona is sitting on a barstool at the island next to Isabel while Flick is seated cross legged on the counter, dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and the same sweats he and Fiona are wearing with their hair hanging loose around their shoulders for once. They’re also eating what looks like a piece of toast, bringing it to Rhys’ attention that there’s actually toast to eat.

Finally. Something that’s _not_ just dried fruit and nuts. He swears, if he ever so much as sees another one of those plastic baggies of squirrel food again, it’ll be too goddamn soon.

He grabs two pieces off the big plate in the center of the island and takes a seat next to Fiona, listening in on whatever it is Isabel is trying to explain.

“-essentially your entire identity, everything from your medical record to your bank accounts,” she’s saying, “and every citizen on Nona has one.”

“Has what?” Rhys asks around a mouthful of tasty, tasty bread.

“An AION chip,” Isabel tells him, leaning around Fiona slightly. “It’s usually the biggest problem people have with getting into Fides. Things like outstanding warrants or suspected rebel activity are cause for detainment or... worse, depending on the offenses. So I specialize in altering these records for those attempting to get off-world.”

She props her elbow up on the counter and leans her chin into her palm, raising her eyebrows. “Your case is... slightly more complicated, because you don’t have records at all, so I’d have to build them from scratch. And neither one of you seem to know anything about the AION, which is... strange, to tell the truth. I’m not sure if I understand that part very well, if someone would like to fill me in as to how you’ve lived all your lives without ever even having heard of it...?”

Nobody says anything.

Isabel sighs. “It was worth a try.”

“So these- these AION chips,” Rhys says as he finishes his toast and reaches for another piece. “What are they, exactly?”

“Precisely what they sound like. They’re electronic chips about the size of a grain of rice, typically implanted into the forearm. They hold every piece of information attached to the individual and regularly sync with the Orcus database so they can keep an eye on any potential problem groups forming and eliminate uprisings before they can get out of hand.”

That sounds... incredibly violating. Fiona doesn’t seem to like it either if the deep frown she’s making it anything to go by. “So what you’re saying is you’re all basically like dogs?”

Isabel blinks a few times, confused. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, you have a chip put in you that keeps track of everything about who you are and what you’ve done so the big bad people at the top of the food chain can keep a chokehold on the leash, choosing where you get to go or if you’re even allowed to get off this shithole of a planet. Or just getting rid of you altogether if you’re causing too much trouble.” Fiona raises an eyebrow. “You’re like dogs. Or cattle, maybe.”

Flick claps their hands together and points at her. “This one gets it.”

Isabel hums her agreement. “I see. I’m glad I don’t have to explain the downsides of undergoing this procedure to you.”

“Undergoing this pro-” Rhys starts to repeat and then cuts himself off, staring at Isabel in disbelief. “You mean _we_ have to get chipped?”

“If you want to enter Fides and by extension leave Nona, then yes.”

Ohhh, he doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like that one bit. The thought of some mysterious mega-organization being able to track his every move... It makes his skin crawl just thinking about it. “Can they at least be, uh, removed later? Or something?”

“Under normal circumstances, no. The chips attach themselves to nerves in the arm to allow for greater functionality, for example...”

Isabel raises her left arm and extends her palm. A soft light glows just beneath her skin in the middle of her forearm, briefly stationary before it travels in a straight line towards her wrist. It branches off into three separate threads of light, each coming to rest in their respective positions on the pads of her thumb, middle, and pinky fingers.

Then she brings up her opposite hand to touch all her fingers together and pull them apart again, resulting in some kind of circular, holographic display floating just above her palm. It bears a passing resemblance to his palm interface, except he had to have his entire arm replaced to do shit like that and she can pull up a screen from her own goddamn fingers.

Isabel dismisses the display before dropping her arm again. Fiona suddenly turns to Flick, bewildered. “Can _you_ do that?”

They shake their head, kicking their feet out to let them dangle over the edge of the counter. “Only updated models can. Up north and, well, almost everywhere except Fides, we get the crap ones that are pretty much just glorified GPS trackers with our citizen identifiers attached to them.”

“No matter the model, they’re all too dangerous to remove without the proper knowledge,” Isabel chimes in. “We’ve managed to reverse engineer clean chips to figure out how they work, but extraction isn’t always successful. Sometimes, people lose use of the arm. Sometimes...”

She doesn’t finish that sentence, but the implication is clear.

“You can just say they die, Issa,” Flick says anyway before turning to Rhys and Fiona. “Sometimes, people die.”

“Wow, thanks so much for clearing that up,” Rhys drawls sarcastically. “I really wasn’t sure from the way she trailed off all ominously.”

They grin before sliding off the counter to grab another piece of toast. “You’re so welcome, Clarice.”

“As of right now, you’re flukes in the system,” Isabel says, “and Orcus doesn’t even know you exist. Doing this would put you on their grid permanently, for all intents and purposes, so I understand if you need some time to-”

“We’ll do it,” Fiona interrupts, much to Rhys’ surprise.

But then, they don’t really have a choice, do they? Not if they don’t want to spend the rest of their lives on this insufferable hellhole of a planet. Rhys nods in agreement after a moment, finishing off what must be his fourth piece of toast. Or maybe fifth. Possibly seventh.

What can he say? He loves carbs.

Isabel and Flick go to get everything prepared, leaving Rhys and Fiona alone. She spins around on her barstool, nudging her knee against his. “This is getting weirder and weirder by the minute.”

Rhys grunts, eyeing the plate of toast again. “Sure is.”

They sit silently for a minute before Fiona leans up against the counter with a sigh. “Did you hear those two fighting last night?”

Fighting? No, he can’t say that he did. He must have been too busy minding his own business. “Eavesdropping again, are we?”

She makes a face. “It doesn’t count as eavesdropping if they were yelling so loud it sounded like they were standing right outside my door.”

He sooo doesn’t care about this, but he needs something to distract him so he doesn’t wind up eating those last three pieces of bread that are oh so enticingly calling his name. “What were they fighting about?”

“Flick was upset about... something,” she says, pulling the plate over to take a piece of toast for herself. “I only caught snippets. Something about how Isabel should have been there for them but she wasn’t, and that she can’t just expect them to forget about that and pick up where the two of them left off.” She takes a bite and chews for a moment, thinking. “Sounded like a lover’s quarrel to me. But I think I heard the kid mention that name from the prison a couple times, which I thought was a little weird. Rachel or Regina or... shit, what was it?”

“Reina,” Rhys supplies automatically, and to his immense surprise, something clicks in his head. A forgotten memory shoved away in favor of things more important, drudged up and dusted off and presented to the very forefront of his brain.

“She’s Reina’s sister,” Rhys says, a little stupefied, and when Fiona gives him an odd look, he elaborates, “Isabel, I mean. She’s Reina’s sister.”

No wonder she looked so freakishly familiar to him. He watched her psychopath of a twin ramble into a camera about torturing guards just a few nights ago, but he’d been so convinced it wouldn’t come up again that he’d almost completely forgotten about it.

“Disembodied hand, Reina?” Fiona clarifies as she finishes her toast. “And just how in the hell do you know she had a sister?”

He checks over his shoulder to make sure they’re still alone before bringing up his palm interface and navigating to the log he’d watched before. He lets it run from start to finish, once again struck by how goddamn long it took him to connect the dots on this one. He can see now that Reina and Isabel look so scarily similar to each other that there’s no way they’re _not_ related. It’s nearly impossible to tell the person on the screen apart from the one so graciously hosting them. Except for the hair. And the personality.

Once the video is over, Fiona leans back on her stool, eyebrows raised. “Wow. I get why the kid murdered her and stole her hand now.”

Rhys nods, letting the interface deactivate. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Are there any more of those or is that it?”

Ah, classic Fiona. Always eager to stick her nose where it doesn’t belong and damn all the consequences. “Yeah, there’s a whole folder of them. I, uh, didn’t watch them, though.”

“Why not?”

“Um,” he says, sparing her an incredulous look. “Maybe because after watching the first one, it all felt kind of, oh, I don’t know... intrusive? Or unnecessary? Or even just downright rude?”

She looks thoughtful for a moment before reaching over to pat him on the arm. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

“Oh, will you- I wasn’t trying to be _chivalrous_.” He scoffs, because he _wasn’t_ , and yanks his arm out from under her fingers. “I just- I just didn’t care enough about it to keep prying, alright? That’s all.”

“Keep prying into what?” Flick’s voice sounds from behind them, making both of them jump and spin around. The kid’s arms are full of medical supplies that they move to dump right onto the island before hopping up on the stool beside Rhys. “So who’s going first?”

“Is, uh. Is Isabel not doing it?” Rhys asks, suddenly having second thoughts about the whole thing now that the kid is sorting through syringes and glass medicine bottles and packages of gauze.

“What, you don’t trust me?” They bring a hand up to their chest, looking convincingly offended. “I _am_ a medical professional, you know. Or something like that.”

“Yeah, that... really doesn’t make me feel better.”

Fiona rolls her eyes and nudges him in the ribs until he stands up so she can slide over to take his spot.

“You’ve done this before, right?” she asks Flick as Rhys sits back down on her stool to watch this disaster waiting to happen.

“Yeah,” the kid says, which is actually a little encouraging until they continue, “Once. When I was, like, thirteen. And my dad did most of it.”

Excellent.

“But it’s not that big of a deal,” they elaborate quickly as they pull a tie off their wrist and gather their hair at the nape of their neck so it’s out of the way. “Unless I nick a nerve. Or an artery. Which I _won’t_ ,” they add when they see the look on Rhys’ face. “Yeesh. Would it kill you to have a little faith in me?”

“I’m starting to think it might,” Rhys replies, slightly strained.

They start prepping their supplies, opening packages of syringes to have them ready to go and snapping on a pair of gloves.

“You’re right-handed?” they ask Fiona, to which she nods. “AION chips are usually implanted in the non-dominant arm, but since your left arm is all-” they gesture vaguely, “-crispy and gross, it’s up to you where you want me to put it.”

“Left is fine,” she says as she props the limb up on the counter. “Speaking of which, any chance you have more of that... What did you call it?”

“MEND-27?” they guess, nodding. “I’ll ask Issa. I’m sure she has a stash around here somewhere.”

Flick scoots closer to Fiona to carefully examine her arm before grabbing a packet from the counter and ripping it open. They remove a winged applicator with a sponge on the end and use that to disinfect the inside of her forearm, letting the solution dry while they prepare the needle.

“This is just to numb the area,” they explain as they slowly draw the drug out of the glass bottle and into the barrel of the needle. “Because _someone_ hasn’t finished prepping the chips yet.”

They call out the last part pointedly over their shoulder, and there’s a resounding sigh from Isabel in the other room. “La paciencia es una virtud, mi corazón.”

Flick rolls their eyes at the remark and turns back to Fiona, who cocks her head at them.

“Wow,” she says. “You’re so rude and demanding that she called you out on it an entirely other language.”

The kid makes a funny face at that. “She’s just being pretentious. That’s her whole thing. She doesn’t even really speak Spanish. Like, she can say ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ and ask where the bathroom is and that’s about it. I think she thinks it makes her seem cultured or something. I don’t really know.”

Fiona crosses her other elbow over her arm to prop it up on the counter so she can lean her chin into her hand, watching them silently for a minute. “What’s the story with you two, anyway? I haven’t been able to pin it down.”

Rhys kind of wants to say something because she _really_ needs to learn when to let sleeping dogs lie, but he keeps his mouth shut. If she wants to piss the kid off by being needlessly insensitive and nosy, she can have at it. In the meantime, he’ll be aaall the way over here, staying in his own lane like the courteous man of honor he is.

Flick doesn’t say anything at first, quickly occupying themselves with taking Fiona’s arm and administering the drug beneath her skin like they’re trying to avoid answering the question. But then they sit back with a sigh, snapping the safety on the needle into place and tossing it down on a pad of gauze beside them.

“As I’m sure you’ve been able to guess,” they start slowly, “we used to be... involved.”

“So, she’s your girlfriend,” Fiona concludes. “Or she was, at some point.”

Their nose scrunches up in embarrassment and they look away. “I... guess? I don’t really want to go into it right now. But we were both prisoners at Killjoy when it was overthrown. The difference between us was she had the opportunity to leave once the riots were over and I didn’t. Not for a long time. And I waited and hoped she would come back for me but she just... never did. And I hated her for that. Or at least I thought I did.”

It looks like they space out for a second but then they come back, shaking their head as if to clear it. “Looking back on it, I... think she had her reasons. But it doesn’t really matter anymore anyway, because I got out on my own eventually. And now she’s all wrapped up in this rebel stuff, which is fitting. The whole... selfless hero thing, I guess. Putting her life on the line to save others. It was never really my scene, but it suits her. She puts on this big show of being all snooty and condescending but she’s a good person, underneath that. Not like Reina.”

At the mention of the name, their teeth snap shut and the conversation lulls back into silence. Fiona looks too deep in thought to continue interrogating them anyway, and Rhys finally caves and takes the last two pieces of toast for himself. Flick fidgets in their seat impatiently for a few minutes before hopping up to go see what’s taking so long, but just as they get to the doorway, Isabel rounds the corner, nearly smacking right into them.

“And after I asked so nicely for your patience,” she teases as she steps around them to wander over towards the island. She sets down the laptop in her hands and plucks two capped needles off the keyboard, turning around again to pass them off to Flick.

“Thank you,” they grumble, retaking their seat in front of Fiona. They carefully inspect the needles as Isabel watches them fondly. “Did you load profiles into these already?”

“Not yet. I thought that we would build them together. Our lovely companions will have to play the roles we create, after all,” she says, leaning down to tuck a lock of escaped hair behind their ear and pressing her lips against their temple.

“Working, Issa,” they mumble, clearly flustered, to which Isabel only hums in amusement before going to make herself comfortable in front of her computer at the far end of the island.

Flick makes sure the spot on Fiona’s arm is sufficiently numb before uncapping the needle and moving it into place. They push down the plunger and insert the chip beneath her skin in one fluid, painless motion, and then give her a little square of gauze to hold to the site before gesturing for her to switch with Rhys. They take care of the used needle and change their gloves as he sits down, snapping the latex of the clean pair a little louder than they really need to as they pull them on.

“Prepare for your examination,” Flick tells him with a cackle that is so downright disturbing he can actually feel his blood pressure spike.

He stands up abruptly, nervous laughter escaping him. “On- On second thought, I think I’m just going to-”

“Oh, relax, would you?” They body block him to prevent him from running out of the room screaming like he desperately, _desperately_ wants to. “What, are you afraid of needles or something? You have, like, two tattoos. Your neck and... whatever’s going on with all that blue stuff on your arm and chest. This is going to hurt way less than any of that, I promise.”

Sure. Sure it is. The creepy smile on their face tells him otherwise, but sure.

“I, uh. I have three tattoos, actually. Just for the record,” he says as he resignedly sinks back into his seat once it’s clear they’re not going to let him pass.

“Three?” Fiona repeats, and he turns around to find her eyes wandering all over him to try and locate the missing one. “Where is...”

“Oh, you’re never going to believe this, but it’s actually on my-”

A stabbing pain _shoots_ up his arm and he whirls back around with a shout, clutching at the source out of reflex. And the kid’s just sitting there, empty syringe in hand, looking perfectly complacent and extremely proud of themselves.

“What the _hell_?” he groans, snatching his arm back to hold it close to him and giving them what feels like a scowl for the ages. “You forgot to numb it, you asshole!”

“Oops!” they exclaim in a way that in no way sounds even remotely genuine. “Guess we’re even now, huh?”

“What are you even _talking_ about?” he snaps as Fiona rubs his back sympathetically. “God, you are such a-”

“Hold that thought,” they interrupt as they gather all the medical waste on the counter and leave the room to presumably go dispose of it.

“...Dick,” he finishes lamely, even though Flick isn’t there to hear it.

Isabel sighs and finishes typing something out on her laptop before standing up and carrying it over to take a seat closer to him and Fiona again. “I assume you know Flick well enough for me to not to have to apologize for their behavior.”

Rhys just snorts humorlessly. It’s not like the stupid kid is sorry for it, so why the hell would her apology help? He lifts his fingers to check the puncture site on his arm and yep, he’s still bleeding. He grabs a piece of leftover gauze off the counter and wads it up, pressing it against the wound with a wince. _Shiiit_ , that hurts. And it’s probably going to hurt even more later once it starts to bruise.

“At any rate,” Isabel starts as she rotates the display on her laptop around so he and Fiona can see, “the chips are in place, so now we have to upload your respective profiles to them. I’ve taken the liberty of drafting up templates for you, but since you’ll be the ones assuming these identities during your time in Fides, it might be best if you have a say in the details.”

“Will that be an issue?” Fiona wonders as she tries to squint at the words over Rhys’ shoulder. “Will we be constantly interrogated by whoever to make sure we are who these profiles say we are?”

Isabel crosses her legs and examines her nails, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. “No, I don’t anticipate that. It’s just a precaution. You should be familiar enough with your personas that you could reasonably hold a polite conversation with a stranger on the street. You just don’t want to attract suspicion to yourselves since Orcus can scan and verify you at any time if they believe they have reason to do so. Your profiles are freely accessible to all Sec-Corps officers, and should they find any contradictions in the data...”

“Contradictions?” Rhys prompts.

“Take the medical history portion, for example. It’s populated with an acceptable amount of mock reports for injuries and illnesses that required medical attention. At first glance, it looks legitimate. But if Sec-Corps digs deeper and starts comparing your records to the ones kept at the hospitals in Fides, they’ll find that there are no such entries matching the ones on your profiles. They’ll send your case up to the Protectorate Division and you’ll be detained for questioning before more than likely being executed.”

“What, over some fudged broken bones?” Fiona says incredulously. “Seriously?”

Isabel nods slowly. “They’ll assume you have something to hide because you’re a rebel, or have connections with our movement. We’re not the only ones who have cracked how to alter citizen identifiers, but we’re the biggest group. We’d pose a threat to their reign, should we grow too large, and that scares them. So they don’t take any chances.”

Rhys blinks a few times, disbelieving. “And people are just... okay with that? With the- the government, or whatever you want to call it, killing anybody they think _might_ be involved in some sort of completely justified rebellion?”

“Many of the people who could do anything to stop it simply don’t know it happens in the first place,” Isabel explains sadly, “especially in Fides. Natives to the city are blind to the hardships those outside of it face. They only see the good things Orcus has done- the technology they brought, like their medicine and the AION. They don’t see the people forced to work the Eridium rigs at risk of being executed or the artificial scarcity of resources imposed on the smaller communities up north to keep them impoverished and docile.

“And not even those who do live in those conditions are always aware of just how far Orcus will go to stay on their gilded throne. They don’t openly flaunt their power, they use it subtly, taking great care to keep their more unscrupulous operations under wraps. Suspected rebels are murdered or just disappear, and they find some way to shift the blame onto somebody else. Usually somebody close to the victim. It’s so much easier to believe your neighbor killed his brother in cold blood than it is to consider the possibility that Orcus had anything to do with it. High and mighty Orcus. Peace and order and fairness for all, and let justice be wrought against those who would dare disturb it.”

She nearly spits the words, face twisted in contempt. And then her expression smooths out again into something more somber. “So to most, this all just sounds like a conspiracy theory. They keep their eyes shut to what’s happening right in front of them because they think being ignorant is better than being dead. But what they fail to realize is that there are some fates that are much, _much_ worse than death.”

The silence that follows settles in like fog, so thick and heavy that it feels like he could reach out and touch it. The sheer resources this organization must have to be able to do essentially whatever they want without any real consequences is... frightening. Flick had said that Nona wasn’t the only planet affected by the opening of the Vault, and Reina mentioned in the AION log some rebel movement on Decima that Orcus had turned its attention to, so just how many other places are there like this one? Trapped under the boot of a higher power too competent and almighty to resist?

There’s some shuffling from the doorway, and he turns to see Flick had been leaning up against the frame, listening to Isabel with him and Fiona the whole time.

“Trying to recruit my friends into your little movement, Issa?” they ask teasingly as they move into the kitchen to take a seat next to her.

“Not... intentionally,” Isabel says, looking a little embarrassed. She turns back to Rhys and Fiona, sliding her laptop closer towards them. “Just... please take a look at those and make whatever changes you like. I’ll look it over once you’re finished to make sure everything’s in order before uploading them to the chips.”

Rhys tries to shake the lingering chill from his bones as Fiona scoots her stool around so she doesn’t have to peer over his shoulder just to see the screen. She starts scrolling through the profiles and it’s all pretty much filled in already, everything from recent transactions they definitely didn’t make to extensive job histories that are laughably inaccurate. But he guesses that’s the point, isn’t it? He can’t find anything overly wrong with his profile, however Fiona does lean forward and make a change to her birth date so she’s a few years younger than she actually is, which makes him give her a funny look.

“What?” she says, crossing her arms defensively. “I can pass for twenty-six.”

“Hmm,” is all he says to that, just to see that cute little frown she makes when she’s pretending to be offended.

She huffs and brushes her bangs back from her face, clearly trying not to pout. “Jerk.”

He shakes his head, amused, and they finish tweaking their respective profiles before finally sliding the laptop back over to Isabel.

“Oh, but one last thing,” Rhys says as she takes it from them. “You have to change those names.”

Fiona hums in agreement, making Isabel raise an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with the names?”

“Troy and Laura?” Fiona says with a shake of her head. “Really? Do we _look_ like the kind of people who would have names like that?”

“I don’t see how that’s-”

“Just change them,” Rhys interrupts, making Isabel sigh.

“Alright,” she relents. “Just give me a minute to think of-”

“I got it,” Flick pipes up, nudging Isabel to the side to take over the keyboard. Rhys and Fiona both get up, drifting over to stand behind the pair and watch what Flick is typing.

“Robin Banks and Di- Oh, seriously?” Rhys huffs while Fiona bites back giggles. “I am _not_ going by Dick Face. That’s not- That hardly even sounds like a real name. Who the hell would name their kid that? No. Just- Just no.”

Flick sighs dramatically as they backspace the entry. “Everybody’s a critic.”

They get through three more names- Dick Swett, Dick Rasch, and Dick Finder, respectively- before Rhys smacks Flick across the back of the head and says, “Can my name _not_ be a dick joke? Please?”

Isabel brings her hands up to massage her temples with a sigh. “Just use your real names if you’re going to make such a fuss about it. I thought aliases would be an appropriate safety measure, but it’s not worth having to listen to this.”

After finalizing the names and making sure everything else is acceptable, Isabel wirelessly uploads the profiles to their chips and activates them. She quickly glosses over how to use the AION interface, and while the whole thing certainly seems pretty useful- the map and GPS functions especially- it isn’t as easy to use as she first made it look. She assures them they’ll get used to it over time and be able to more quickly navigate through all the various menus, but she does advise against using it in public for now to avoid drawing attention, due to their obvious ineptitude with the technology.

Updating Flick’s profile is a much less lengthy process, since all Isabel has to do is alter the existing information to exclude anything that would bar them from entering the city. She offers to update the software in their chip to give them access to the AION but they refuse, insisting that they’re perfectly fine without creepy lights crawling around in their arm, thanks very much.

Once that’s all done and over with, Isabel stands and beckons for the trio to follow her upstairs, leading them through what he assumes to be her bedroom and then into her needlessly large closet. The color scheme in here is just as bright and cold as the rest of the house- surprise!- so all the meticulously color-sorted clothes hanging on the racks are that much more vibrant. The walls are lined with deep shelves to hold everything from coats to shoes, with an entire section alone being dedicated to the latter. Isabel clasps her hands in front of her, leaning against the frame of the doorway.

“I had Xavier launder your clothes as best he could,” she says, “but unfortunately, the stains seem to be permanent. So you’ll need something else to wear if you don’t want to attract too much attention to yourselves.”

Rhys looks to Fiona in confusion at the mention of the unfamiliar name, but she only shakes her head, apparently just as clueless as he is.

“Xavier?” he asks, hoping she’ll elaborate.

Isabel tilts her head in surprise. “You haven’t met him yet? He’s my assistant. Or, really, he helps all the intakers. Xavier?”

She leans out of the closet to call his name. Within a few moments, a blonde head pokes into the bedroom doorway, blue eyes blinking curiously. “Did you call me?”

What the hell. Has he been here this whole time? Rhys guesses it’s not _that_ weird he hadn’t noticed an entirely other person running around since the house is stupidly big even by his standards, but still. Isabel waves Xavier over and he walks all the way into the room, coming to stand right beside her.

“Why didn’t you introduce yourself to our guests?” she chides him, sliding a hand over his shoulders and pinching his cheek fondly. “That was quite rude of you.”

Xavier doesn’t respond to her poking and prodding, gaze sliding from Rhys to Fiona to Flick and then back again before he nods to each of them in turn. “Hello.”

Isabel sighs as she releases Xavier, fingers trailing down his arm. “Someday, I’ll get more than five words out of you.”

He makes this face that gives Rhys the impression that’s not going to happen any time soon, turning back to Isabel. “Did you need something else?”

She hesitates for a second before shaking her head. “No, I suppose not. Just make sure the car has enough gas to get us to Fides, if you don’t mind. We’ll be leaving soon.”

Xavier nods and slips out of the room just as quickly as he entered it, and Isabel watches him disappear before turning back around. “Please excuse him. He’s... very quiet. But as for the matter of your clothes, I make it a point to keep extra sizes on hand for cases such as this one, so there should be things here that will fit for all three of you. Feel free to pick out anything you like. Although I would personally recommend a _complete_ pair of socks for you, muñeca,” she nods towards Fiona, “and perhaps some gloves for our charming androidic companion?”

Why. Why does he keep having to defend his personhood to all the assholes on this planet. “I think my self esteem is high enough that I don’t have to hide my cybernetics just to make you judgy weirdos more comfortable, but thanks for the concern.”

“I see.” Isabel raises her eyebrows at him. “Forgive me if I caused any offense. I only suggested it because the tech appears to be rather noticeably dated. You could easily have it replaced with something more inconspicuous, if you wanted. But I... suppose you don’t,” she adds when she sees Rhys glowering at her. “I’m sure it’s perfectly functional, albeit a little aesthetically passé.”

She looks thoughtful for a moment before an intrigued smile slowly spreads across her face. “Does it, by any chance, have _extra_ capabilities? Like, say... vibrate, for example?”

Oh, for god’s sake. “Why the hell does everybody keep asking me that?”

“Who’s already asked you that?” Flick wonders.

“Nobody,” Fiona butts in, pointedly digging her elbow into Rhys’ ribs before he can say anything else. “Nobody has asked him that. Ever. At any time.”

He must be missing something because both Flick and Isabel are giving Fiona this knowing look that’s making her scowl. But no one offers him an explanation, even after he repeatedly asks, and Isabel eventually leaves after pitching the glove idea to him one more time to which he only accepts to make her shut up about it.

Fiona drifts over to the section of the closet where all the red things are, which comes as no great surprise. Flick quickly pulls their choice of a thick mock wrap sweater with a loose collar and a pair of shiny black leggings off the hangers and goes to get dressed, leaving Rhys a little lost. He eventually puts something acceptable together, but only after getting over the crushing disappointment of not being able to find anything with stripes except for one lone gray vest. He does, however, find a pair of dark pants with a hexagonal imprint on them, which seem to match the ones Fiona’s picked out for herself save for the color. The best part is the pattern only goes down one leg, much like his old pants, though he wasn’t completely sold on them until Fiona tried and failed to forcibly rip the garment from his hands with the assertion that she was, quote, “Not going through this shit with him again.”

After bickering a little longer over his legwear choice, they head back to their respective rooms to get dressed. Rhys pulls on his wonderfully asymmetric pants, a dark button-up shirt with blue trim, the one striped vest he found in the entirety of Isabel’s wardrobe, and a sleek, white tailcoat with gold accents on the lapels. He gets a belt situated around his hips and pulls on his old shoes- bloodstains still visible but not as overly saturated as before- and turns to go consider himself in the floor length mirror on the wall in the bathroom.

Well. It doesn’t look terrible, he guesses. Could be worse. And it’s better than running around looking (and smelling!) like he just survived a massacre.

He still misses his stripes, though.

Rhys takes a minute to fix his hair before making his way downstairs again, only to find Flick and Fiona already waiting for him. They’re sitting on one of the very expensive looking couches in the living room with one of Isabel’s giant dogs sprawled across both their laps. He isn’t sure which one, because they look almost exactly alike. Short, white fur, long, pointed snouts, and more muscle mass in their shoulders alone than he probably has in his entire body.

Fiona cranes her head around when she hears Rhys enter, shimmying out from under the animal to stand and walk around the side of the couch.

“Very nice,” she says approvingly after giving him a once-over while he just stares mutely at her like an moron. “Even with the ugly pants.”

Maybe so, but they look _so_ much better on her. Hers are high-waisted, light gray in color and patterned on both sides. She has a deep, v-neck shirt that ties in the front tucked into it, and a dark red coat on top of that. It looks like it’s made out of velvet or suede or something similar, and the shape is, of course, asymmetrical, but in a front to back fashion instead of one side being longer than the other. She also chose to wear her own boots, as well as her belt and one of the leather bracers on her wrists.

She looks... good. Very, _very_ good.

She gives a little spin, showcasing the train of her coat and how it flows with her movement, and then comes to a stop once she’s facing him again before planting her hands on her hips.

“So!” she starts with a hint of a smile. “What do you think?”

And because Rhys has all the poise and wit of a man who is hopelessly enamored with someone who’s already rejected him once, he swallows the lump in his throat and says hoarsely, “Looks- Looks alright.”

What.

The hell.

Is wrong with him.

He can hear Flick choke back a snort from where they’re still sitting on the couch. Fiona’s face falls a fraction, or maybe his short circuiting brain is just imagining things. She nods and turns around again so fast that it’s impossible to tell, but she doesn’t even get a chance to sit back down before Isabel is calling from the front door that it’s time to leave.

She doesn’t seem overly upset, but she pushes past him without another word. God. He’s such an idiot. He literally could not have messed that up more if he tried. Except maybe if he’d outright told her she looked _bad_ , so he should probably count his lucky stars he dodged that particular bullet. But still. _Looks alright_? Seriously? She actually asked for his opinion- which she only ever does every once in a blue moon- and that’s what he goes with?

He is... _so_ stupid. Just... Just so, so dumb.

Rhys is still mentally beating the shit out of himself by the time Flick’s barely contained snickers erupt into full blown laughter, and they push themselves up off the cushions to come stand in front of him so they can do it right in his face.

“You- You-” they try to wheeze out between cackles, shaking their head. “You are _such_ a chump.”

Their face suddenly looks about ten times more punchable than it usually does. He scowls down at them, fuming, and tries to resist the urge to deck the damn kid right in the jaw only because he’s reasonably certain that the only way that situation would end is with him getting stabbed in the kidney.

“Aww,” they coo sarcastically at his expression, still giggling. “Is someone upset because he just kissed whatever small chance he might have had with Madame Thief goodbye?”

Rhys lets out a slow breath in a futile attempt to reign in his temper, squeezing his eyes shut and bringing up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Please stop talking to me.”

Flick dissolves back into breathless laughter and steps around him to go out the same way Fiona did, leaving Rhys alone to stew in his regret. The dog jumps down from the couch and trots over to sniff at his hand, licking his knuckles once before wandering off to, presumably, go do dog things.

Rhys eventually manages to find enough of his dignity to drag himself outside, using the bright moonlight from above to help him navigate the gravelly driveway to the SUV waiting at the end of it. Isabel is examining Fiona’s hand in front of the open trunk, using the light from inside of the car as she sprays on some of the same stuff they used on Flick over her burns.

“That is... definitely not normal,” Isabel is saying, looking at the vial in her hand and shaking it before resuming the treatment. “It’s not healing over whatsoever. What did you say did this again?”

“Uh,” Fiona stammers. “There was an... accident. Involving hot things. Very hot things. Hence the burns.”

Rhys rolls his eyes and mouths the word ‘smooth’ to her, like he has any room to judge.

Fiona scoffs at him over Isabel’s shoulder as she continues spraying the wound, but she winds up using the whole thing in vain. The backs of Fiona’s fingers still look just as bad as before, much to Isabel’s displeasure.

“How bizarre,” she says as she recaps the vial. “Did the MEND-34 shot help your ribs, at least?”

Fiona twists around experimentally, exhibiting a range of motion she hasn’t had since they landed, and nods.

“I suppose there’s a remote chance this was a bad batch then,” Isabel muses thoughtfully, reaching up to bring the door down to close up the back of the car. “But I’ve never seen anything like that before. Orcus medicine is very powerful. Even expired vials are usually still effective on smaller scrapes and bruises.”

Flick rolls down the passenger side window from inside and pokes their head out. “Can we please get a move on already? Lucky’s getting hungry and I don’t have any more epu bites to give him.”

Sighing, Isabel starts making her way around to the driver’s side. “Why didn’t you ask Xavier to feed him?”

“Um, because Xavier creeps me out? The whole quiet, sensitive boy act is only appealing in movies. In real life, it’s just weird.”

“Oh, don’t be so standoffish. He’s a little shy, granted, but I’m sure if you bothered to get to know him better, he would-”

They continue squabbling as Isabel opens the door and hops up into the car, leaving Rhys and Fiona alone. She considers the back of her hand silently for a second, flexing her fingers stiffly a few times before pulling her little fingerless glove back on and tucking the edge under the cuff of her sleeve.

Which reminds him of his own gloves he has in his pocket, as per Isabel’s relentless requests. He tugs one on over his cybernetic hand just so she doesn’t have anything to complain about, but leaves his other one bare as a statement of resistance. Yeahhh. Stick it right to the man. Or to the tall, pretty girl who won’t stop stealing his thunder. Whatever.

“You ready to do this?” he asks Fiona, glancing up briefly but still too humiliated over his foot-in-mouth moment to maintain eye contact for very long.

He can see her shrug her shoulders though, and then bring a hand up to brush her bangs out of her face. “I’m still not really sure what _this_ is going to involve, exactly. So I guess we’ll find out soon, huh?”

As soon as they get themselves situated in the back seat, Isabel shifts into drive and takes off down the road. Conversation is light as they whiz past all the outlying estates that Rhys now realizes probably belong to the rich and privileged who live most of the time in the city. He’d been looking at similar properties on the Edens before all this shit with the Vault happened; country manors out in the middle of nowhere but still within reach of civilization to give the impression of isolation without being too remote. It’s too bad he never closed on one, but even if he had, it probably would have been repossessed by now, if not destroyed entirely in favor of building something newer and shinier.

He wonders if that’s what happened to Atlas too. Did someone step up to take his place when he disappeared, or did it fall to its knees without his leadership? It was still such a new thing before the Vault- a little shaky, a little unsteady on its feet. But it was growing, and growing fast, and he can’t imagine all his hard work just... vanishing as soon as he was gone. No, somebody had to have taken responsibility. Maybe Cassius took over, or... well, no, actually, probably not. It’s more than likely he got himself kicked out of the facility again almost as soon as Rhys left because no one ever seemed to believe he really worked there. Probably had something to do with the fact that he always refused to wear his badge and uniform. Or even bathe regularly.

Rhys sighs, leaning his forehead against the window by his head. Even if Cassius had somehow managed to hold down the fort for a while, he wasn’t exactly the youngest guy around. He’d have to be in his nineties by now at least, and he was already pushing past the average life expectancy on Pandora forty-three years ago. So maybe it was someone else, or... no one at all. It’s not like there was a plan in place for who would succeed him considering he’d only just gotten the company up and running again, so there’s no way to be sure. It’s eating at him, not knowing, not being able to even hazard a feasible guess, but he supposes he just has to add the fate of Atlas to the ever-growing pile of unknowns and hope that maybe someday he’ll get some much needed answers.

The trip into the city takes a few hours, dirt trails turning into paved lanes and other vehicles joining them on the road. It’s strange to see so many people in one place after a week and a half of it just being him, Fiona, and the kid, and even stranger to see the city itself once it comes into view on the horizon. He’d been under the impression that Fides would more closely resemble a large town rather than anything overly urban, like the kid’s hometown of Due East except bigger and not right smack in the middle of the desert.

But oh, how wrong he was.

Even from here, still so far from its outskirts, Rhys can tell this is no modest little hamlet that might be able to support a couple thousand people. This is a sprawling metropolis with seemingly no end to it, soaring skyscrapers crowded so densely together that they’re impossible to count. Thin clouds of fog shroud the expansive skyline, blending all the light of the city together into a kaleidoscope of color. Highways weave over and under each other, cars packed bumper to bumper and brake lights blinking as traffic crawls along at a snail’s pace. They start to slow down themselves as they catch up to some of it, more vehicles feeding into the lanes beside them from entry ramps that seem to come from outlying suburban districts. As they approach the border of the city, the buildings get closer, reach higher, blocking out the night sky and smothering the light from the stars with their own.

Rhys couldn’t even begin to guess how many people must live here, but it has to be somewhere in the millions. He wouldn’t be surprised if most of the planet’s population is concentrated around this area, considering how brutal conditions are just eight hundred miles north. Maybe it would be different if efforts were made to rebuild what was lost after the opening of the Vault, but there wasn’t any sign of that on the way here. Which probably has a lot to do with what Isabel had been saying about keeping the communities in the north indigent, stunting any possible growth while still providing enough to give the pretense of security.

It’s smart, he thinks, as they slowly approach the border checkpoint. At least from a tactical point of view. It’s also obviously extremely wrong on an ethical level, but he has to give credit where credit is due. These Orcus assholes know what they’re doing.

“They’re probably going to ask us to step out so they can verify our identities and search the vehicle,” Isabel says over her shoulder as they inch along. “I understand this is new for all of you so I ask that you just be... normal. Sec-Corps officers aren’t as intimidating as the Protectorates, but they’re still trained to sniff out those who don’t belong.”

“Sec-Corps,” Flick repeats with a note of disdain. “More like Suck-Corps.”

Isabel heaves a very exasperated sigh. “It stands for security, Flick. The Fides Security Corps.”

“The Fides _Suck_ Corps,” they correct her and then turn around in their seat to hold up their hand for a high-five. “Huh? Any takers?”

Rhys just shakes his head, not even justifying that with a pity laugh since he’s still a little sore from their bullying. Fiona leans forward to complete the high-five though, earning her a toothy grin and double finger guns.

Once they get to the checkpoint, an officer in an all white, high-necked uniform approaches the driver’s side window and politely asks if everyone in the car could step out for just a few moments. A second officer wanders over to inspect the SUV after they all exit and move to stand in a single file by the edge of the car. Bright, fluorescent lights built into the roof of the overhang shine down on them, making Rhys squint against the reflectiveness of the entire structure until his eyes adjust.

He knows that Isabel said to play it cool, but he can’t help but be a little nervous when the first officer starts making his way down the line, using a strange device to scan the chips in everybody’s arms and pulling up the profiles on a holographic interface. Isabel is first, then Flick, then Fiona, and then him. The guard even makes friendly small talk as he does his job, apparently familiar enough with Isabel to ask what wild plans she has for tonight only for her to expertly dodge the question and make a pass at him to boot.

It all goes off without a hitch- his easy friendliness extending towards Flick and Fiona as he verifies both of them without an issue- and then he gets to Rhys.

“Oh,” he says when he sees Rhys’ face, hands stilling over his scanner and eyebrows raising in surprise.

Oh? What the hell is that supposed to mean? He casts an anxious look over at Fiona, and her stance shifts ever so slightly into something more protective, eyes watchful.

“Is... something wrong?” Rhys asks tentatively as he turns back to the officer.

The man blinks and shakes his head, looking down in embarrassment. “Ah, no, of course not. Sorry about that. It’s just your augmentations, sir. They’re... very unique.”

Well, shit, should he have worn an eyepatch too? Is he going to spend this entire trip getting gawked at like a sideshow circus act or will there actually be some people on this planet who know how to act like normal human beings? Rhys tries not to sulk as the officer quickly scans his arm and glances over his profile. He apologizes once again before announcing that everything seems to be in order and they can be on their way, teasingly advising Isabel to keep herself out of trouble for once as they all climb back into the car.

“How’d that guy know you?” Flick asks as Isabel puts the car in drive again and pulls out from underneath the checkpoint overhang.

“Charlie? He’s one of us,” she explains, checking over her shoulder before merging into the fast lane. “He makes sure there aren’t too many records of intakers entering or leaving the city to avoid drawing unwanted attention to our movement. Most of us live in the central circuit so our activity can’t exactly be explained away under the guise of commuting. There’s others like him in Sec-Corps, though not many. It’s a risky job, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

Rhys spends the rest of the way into Fides proper watching the lights of the city race past in one unending blur. Everything from the traffic heading in all directions to the rows of street lights lining the roads to the tall, digital billboards glaring blindingly from up above. He can’t even imagine how this all looks when the sun is up, but this place must generate one hell of an electric bill. How anyone who lives here can even sleep at night with all this light and noise is waaay beyond him.

They get deep into the city before Isabel finally turns off the highway, steering down a ramp and onto the roads that wind underneath the elevated interstate. Their speed slows significantly as they traverse the avenues and intersections, almost to the point where it feels like they’re standing still more often than they’re moving. Horns blare and obscenities are hurled out of driver’s side windows as Isabel navigates through the traffic, edging her way into other lanes that have spaces only barely big enough for her to squeeze the SUV into. But despite all the road rage and three near fender benders, they make it to their apparent destination in one piece.

The building before them is just as tall and looming as the others surrounding it, long enough to take up almost an entire city block by itself. It’s built in something resembling a U-shape around a crowded pedestrian pathway, and spiraling columns support the arched structure bridging the gap between all three sections of the building. Bright signs are fixed along the front of the first floor overhang, screens lit up with ever-changing lines and shapes of color flashing intermittently in a way that can’t _not_ be completely distracting to drive past. Even the archway appears to be some type of display, or there must be a projection coming from somewhere. Colors on the monitor blend and swirl around each other to create something almost... psychedelic. And vaguely nauseating.

Rhys also concludes this place is called The Fourth Circle from all the flashy signs advertising the name everywhere. Which is... a pretty ominous moniker, to tell the truth. But it does lend a little insight as to what kind of establishment this is, exactly, so at least there’s that.

“This is where you’ll be staying until you can accrue enough credits to buy passage off-world,” Isabel discloses as she rolls to a stop at the light to wait to turn left around the side of the building. “The Fourth Circle is owned by the resistance, so you won’t have to worry about paying for your stay here. We’ve also granted you about five thousand credits each to get you started. Other than that, however, I’m afraid you’re on your own.”

Rhys isn’t terribly surprised to hear that any of that- even the most good-intentioned rebellion movements have a limit to how much they’re willing to provide freely- but Flick turns to Isabel with a shocked look.

“Are you serious?” they ask incredulously. “ _This_ is what you do? You go to all that trouble of sneaking people past the border only to toss them out on the street with little more than a pat on the back and a wish for good luck?”

“That’s not what we-” Isabel sighs as she steers them down the next road over. “We can’t just sponsor every refugee who wants to leave, Flick. We help hundreds of people get into the city every month and the flat rate for a shuttle ride to Decima is one hundred fifty thousand credits. And it’s only been getting higher lately with reports of resistance activity popping up all over the neighboring systems. Please try to understand our situation. We do the best we can.”

The kid doesn’t seem entirely convinced about that, shifting their grip on the cat in their lap and turning towards the passenger window with a huff. “What a load of crap. You guys own fancy mansions and shiny cars and- and a whole casino chain, apparently? And who even knows what else, but you’re still going to sit there and tell me you can’t afford to help the people fighting and dying for their lives outside this festering pit of a city have a chance at something better?”

Isabel falls silent for a moment before quietly repeating with markedly less certainty than before, “We do the best we can.”

Rhys exchanges an uncomfortable glance with Fiona. On one hand, he can see where the kid is coming from, but things like this are never as simple as sinking every last resource into gallant deeds and hoping it’s enough to make a difference. Maybe they’re too young to understand that. Or maybe he’s just jaded.

Fiona clears her throat to try to break the tension a little. “Did you say this is a casino?”

Isabel hums an affirmative. “It is. Gambling is a lucrative business, as I’m sure you’re aware. It’s the biggest asset we have at the moment and it’s opened a lot of doors for us.”

“I don’t think money will be much of a problem, then,” Fiona says as she settles back against the seat and folds her hands in her lap. “I just so happen to be an excellent poker player.”

“Uh, that’s because you cheat,” Rhys points out flatly. “A lot. Which I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to do in a professional gambling setting.”

“That only matters if you’re obvious enough to get caught,” she replies cheekily, to which Isabel shakes her head.

“I’m rather fond of both of you,” she starts as she pulls up to a valet booth set up on the curb, “and I’d hate to see you barred from your best shot at getting off-world as fast as possible, so I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear any of that.”

After conversing briefly with one of the attendants manning the booth, Isabel pushes the driver’s side door open and hops out, gesturing for everyone else to do the same. She passes the key off to the valet and beckons the trio to follow her, making her way through the bustling plaza towards what looks like the front entry to the hotel. A large fountain with nine inner rings accentuates the grandiose entrance, jets set along the borders of the circles and spraying water into the air at increasingly taller heights the closer to the center they get. Red and gold light ripples through the water on a loop, illuminating all nine rings in succession, although the fourth one seems to always stay lit.

The lobby is just as extravagant as the outside of the building, albeit in a more subdued manner rather than blinding lights flashing in his face no matter which way he turns. They’re standing on a raised platform that leads from the door all the way to the marbled check-in counter running along the back wall, and sitting areas with black and red chairs and long, low couches are just a step down on either side. The vestibule is open to the floors up above, balconies with spotless glass rails extending around the perimeter and supported by wide, rounded columns. Curved staircases weave around each other to lead up to the higher floors, with sets of elevators situated into the walls near where they came in and also by the back of the hall as well.

It vaguely reminds him of Isabel’s villa, lines sleek and color scheme bright and pale. Although at least this place has accent colors to soften the white some, so it doesn’t give off the same sterile feeling the inside of that house did.

Isabel leads the way to the back counter, catching the attention of the clerk on duty and quickly getting everything in order before turning back to Rhys and Fiona. Their chips are scanned directly into the system in lieu of being given a card key, which he guesses is kind of convenient but totally isn’t worth all the rest of the crap that comes with having this thing in his arm. Once they’re properly logged and verified, Isabel thanks the girl behind the desk and edges the group away from the counter so they’re not standing in anybody else’s way.

“In case you missed it, you’ll be on the fourteenth floor in the A wing. Just up there.” Isabel gestures towards the upper floors on their left. “The room number is A1469. Please try not to forget. I loaded my information into your contact lists should you need me for anything, but I’m a very busy person. I’m sure you understand.”

“A14 _69_?” Flick repeats and then nods approvingly. “Nice.”

Isabel very obviously tries not to roll her eyes. “Yes. Well. The cycle ends tomorrow, but the sun won’t be coming up for another few days since we’re in the middle of winter right now. So I recommend you two go out and enjoy the nightlife while you still can. It really is the best way to experience Fides. Flick and I, on the other hand, should be going now. Things to do and people to meet with, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Oh,” Fiona says. “Flick is going with you?”

“I’m staying at Issa’s place,” the kid chimes in before Isabel has a chance to. “One of the many perks of dating an intaker.”

“Hmm,” is all Isabel has to say about that, although the smirk spreading across her face tells Rhys more than any amount of words ever could. Gross.

“I’ll drop in for a visit tomorrow,” Flick assures him and Fiona. “Or... maybe the day after? It depends on- It, uh. It just depends. On things. But I’ll be back. So try not to stroke out over the separation anxiety or- or whatever.”

“Just go already,” Rhys tells them, grimacing at how badly they’re blushing right now. “I’m getting embarrassed just from looking at you.”

They scowl so deeply he’s surprised their face doesn’t immediately get stuck like that. “Shut up. At least I’m not so emotionally constipated I can’t even spit out a proper compliment.”

Rhys’ entire face goes hot and Fiona quirks an eyebrow at the exchange, looking between the two of them a few times. “What-”

“No,” they shut her down so fast it looks like she has whiplash from it. “Contrary to popular belief, I still don’t care about your guys’ unending list of problems. You two can figure it out by yourselves. Or not. Like I said, don’t care.”

And with that, they spin around on their heel and take Isabel by the wrist to tug her all the way back down the lobby, disappearing out the front door without another word.

Fiona turns to him questioningly. “What were they talking about?”

“I think you look nice,” he blurts in a rush before his brain gives him the express permission to do so.

Oh, shit. He’s well and truly screwed now, isn’t he? He feels like he’s standing in a furnace, a sensation made even worse by the fact that Fiona’s staring at him like he just sprouted a second head. She doesn’t even _say_ anything, she just stands there with that shell-shocked look on her face, and Rhys, being the hopeless blabbermouth he is, finds himself desperately needing to fill the silence.

“I, uh,” he stammers, breaking eye contact to look at the wall, the floor, literally at anything _except_ her. “That’s- That’s what I was trying to say before we left. Because you do. Look nice, I mean. Not just alright. That was stupid. Please forget that. Or really, if you could just- just forget this entire trainwreck of a conversation, that would be- well, that would be great. But that’s, uh, probably not going to happen, so... You look nice. For the record. Really, really nice.”

If someone were to walk up and shoot him right in the head, he can’t honestly say he would be overly upset about it. It would probably be preferable to what’s happening right now.

He’s so busy fantasizing his mercy killing that he almost misses it when Fiona closes the distance between them to reach up and press her lips against his cheek. And by the time his stupid, idiotic brain catches up, it’s already over, there and gone again so fast that he’s not entirely convinced he didn’t just imagine the whole thing. But Fiona’s closer than she was before, hand lingering on his arm and cheeks bashfully pink.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, snatching her hand back and looking away real fast when she catches him watching her. “That was... very sweet.”

“Uh,” he says articulately, like the chumpy chump he is. “No- No problem.”

And then she glances at him again after a moment, reaching up and using her thumb to rub at something on his cheek. “Sorry. Lipstick.”

He just stares down at her, completely, _hopelessly_ bewitched as she rubs at his face until she’s satisfied. He barely even hears her when she suggests they go check out their room before figuring out how to spend the rest of the evening, only snapping out of it when they step out of the elevator on the fourteenth floor and he realizes he’d been gawking at her like a creep the entire way up.

Smooth, Rhys. As always.

While all the marbled walls in the lobby are white, the ones in the hallways leading through each respective wing of the hotel are slate gray, just as glossy and polished as the ones down below. Rhys catches his reflection in them as they traverse the halls, and he’s unable to suppress a scowl. He doesn’t want to look at his dumb, lame face right now, and he _especially_ doesn’t want to look at the faint imprint of lipstick still on his cheek. Because Fiona couldn’t get it all, nooo, of course not. Leave him to duck his head and rub furiously at it and try not to think about the fact that he is apparently incapable of _not_ making an ass out of himself literally every chance he gets. That’s fine. He’s fine with that.

His cheek is sore by the time they locate the right room. The door slides open automatically as soon as they approach it, which makes Fiona look to Rhys questioningly. But he only shrugs- probably has something to do with the chips- and steps inside, and she follows shortly after.

The color scheme grows ever darker as they walk down the narrow hallway leading from the front door to the rest of the suite, floors still as white as they were in the lobby but walls now a shiny, pitch black. There’s another door to their right that he assumes leads to the bathroom, and a small step down leads to the rest of the room as it opens up in front of them.

It’s not exceedingly large by any means, but not cramped either. The entire back wall is glass from floor to ceiling, a door leading out to a small balcony overlooking the rest of the city. The furnishings are simple but still fit the decor; a few comfy-looking armchairs in the corner by the windows, a wide, flat screen fixed to the wall on their left and a desk underneath it, and a dresser directly adjacent to the bed.

 _The_ bed. As in. Just one.

Because fate just isn’t done kicking him where it hurts, evidently.

Interestingly enough, Fiona doesn’t seem perturbed by the sleeping arrangements presented to them. She actually walks right over to the bed and spins around to fall flat on her back onto the dark, fluffy comforter. She sighs deeply, considering the odd, circular light right above the bed as she kicks her shoes off, and Rhys slowly approaches to sit beside her.

“I’m, uh,” he starts a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m assuming you’ve got dibs on the bed, then?”

Her gaze slides over to him and she gives him this smile he can’t quite make heads or tails of. “It’s a pretty big bed, Rhys. We can share.”

He was so afraid she was going to say something like that.

Sighing, he lets himself fall back onto the mattress beside her. He guesses he could always insist on taking the floor, but that would probably give her the wrong idea. Like he’s too juvenile to let go of his stupid puppy crush long enough to just suck it up and share a bed. But... maybe she expects him to do that anyway? What if she’s only offering to be nice? Then it would be awkward _not_ to take the floor.

Uuugh. Ugh ugh ugh.

Rhys rolls onto his stomach with a grunt and buries his face in the comforter. He’s being stupid. Fiona never does anything just to be nice. She’s not unkind by any means, but she doesn’t go out of her way to spare feelings either. Chances are, she really is genuinely offering to share, but he’s not sure if that should make him feel better or worse.

God. Whatever. He’s overthinking this. It’s not that big of a deal. He should just shut up and be grateful that she’s not so weirded out by his whole one-sided pining thing that she’d rather take the floor herself than share a bed with him.

Fiona taps him on the shoulder and he angles his head around enough to peek up at her. She’s sitting up on her elbows, head tilted to the side to consider him thoughtfully.

“You look like you could use a drink,” she asserts, making him snort.

“We just _got_ here, Fiona. And it’s only, what, maybe 6:30?”

She blinks. “And?”

Wow. It’s really surprising that he can’t come up with any reasonable excuses other than the two he mentioned. Or maybe it’s just sad.

“There’s a bar downstairs,” she continues. “We passed it on the way in.”

Rhys sighs and rolls back over onto his back, folding his hands over his stomach. “There’s really no way I’m going to talk you out of getting hammered tonight, am I?”

“It’s the responsible thing to do,” she agrees solemnly.

He considers her skeptically. “In what universe is getting plastered the minute there’s alcohol within a five mile radius the ‘responsible thing to do’?”

“Mine, obviously,” she says, sitting up to pull her shoes back on. Then she stands and grabs Rhys’ wrists to start tugging him up insistently, making this big show of pretending he’s a lot heavier than he actually is.

“Come onnn,” she whines. “It’ll be fun!”

“You and I have very different definitions of fun,” he grumbles but pushes himself the rest of the way up anyway, much to Fiona’s delight.

She drags him all the way downstairs to a staircase he must have missed when they passed it the first time. It goes down one flight to a landing and then opens up on their right to a wide, dimly lit room with tables and chairs interspersed throughout. And yes, along the same wall as the archway they just came through is a long, granite bar staffed by two very bored bartenders. They’re not overly busy at the moment so Fiona plops herself down front and center, immediately ordering two shots of tequila before Rhys can even get himself comfortable on his stool.

He fully expects her to drink both when the bartender slides them on the counter towards her, so he’s a little surprised when she pushes the second one over to him.

“I don’t like tequila,” he tells her with a grimace as he picks up the glass.

“No one likes tequila, Rhys,” she retorts, clinking her shot against his before throwing it back with ease.

He considers his own glass for a minute. He can’t remember the last time he had a drink that wasn’t at some douchey work event, and he definitely hasn’t had anything as strong as tequila in a _long_ time. So what’s the chance that this all ends in the worst way possible?

Pretty high, probably.

He drinks the shot anyway. And several more after that. But not tequila, at least until Fiona double dares him to do another with her, and, well, he just doesn’t have a choice then, does he? It’s a _double_ dare.

By the time they stumble up the staircase back into the lobby about two hours later, they’re both so badly inebriated that it’s a wonder they’re able to keep themselves upright let alone navigate a bunch of stairs. Fiona’s giggling at something he said about five seconds ago- _damn_ if he can’t remember what it was- and her hands are wrapped snugly around his arm, pulling him in the direction of the front entrance to the hotel.

“Let’s take a walk,” she says, words slurred and steps sloppy.

And he wants to say no, or at least ask why she thinks either one of them is in any state to be taking walks, but his tongue is heavy in his mouth. The world is spinning and it’s too bright and his head kind of hurts but she’s here, she’s in front of him, fingers tugging and lips smiling and he thinks, okay. He’ll take a walk with her. Hell, he’ll go to the moon with her if that’s what she asks next.

She doesn’t ask that. She just drunkenly marches along with his wasted ass in tow, pushing through the crowd in the plaza outside the hotel and leading him down the sidewalk towards destination unknown. He tells stupid stories just to hear her laugh again, and she navigates the maze of the city without any care as to where they might end up. They make so many twists and turns that even he can’t begin to guess where they are, but somehow, that seems like the exact opposite of a problem.

They eventually find themselves sitting at the edge of an underpass, watching cars on the interstate above their heads race past and drinking out of bottles filled with something watery and bitter. Where the hell did they even get these? He has to think for a second, long and hard, before the memory returns to him. Oh yeah. They stopped somewhere to get a whole pack of this stuff. Whatever it is. Tastes like shit.

He throws the bottle down into the underpass, glass shattering against the concrete and the liquid inside spilling out.

“That,” Fiona starts, slowly turning to look at him, “is a waste of good beer.”

“Wasn’t that good,” Rhys responds haltingly as he swallows a hiccup.

Looking down at her own bottle, Fiona rubs a thumb absently across the label before hopping to her feet. She teeters precariously for a moment on the incline but finds her balance, hurling the bottle down into the underpass just like he did and giving a cheer of joy as it explodes across the ground.

“Yeah!” she shouts waaay louder than she needs to. “I have problems with authority!”

“Can you-” He grabs her hand and pulls her down onto the ground beside him again before pressing a finger to her lips. “Just... Shhh.”

“No,” she mumbles around his finger. “Because I have problems with authority.”

He doesn’t know why, but he thinks that might just be the funniest thing he’s ever heard. He certainly laughs like it is, shaking his head and burying his face in his hands in a futile attempt to smother the giggles. She joins in after a moment, leaning heavily against him as they laugh and laugh until they both have tears in their eyes.

“Oh my god,” she suddenly gasps between giggles, shaking him by the shoulder. “Oh my god, Rhys. Rhys, look at me.”

He looks at her, bringing a hand up to wipe at his eyes and trying to choke back his snickers. “What?”

“You know what would- what would be _amazing_ right now?”

“What?”

She looks him dead in the eye, suddenly fiercely serious. “Soft. Tacos.”

He turns to face her fully, grabbing her by the shoulders and squeezing once. “Oh my god.”

She blinks. “What?”

“I think that’s the best idea you’ve ever had.”

She leaps to her feet and pulls another completely full bottle of beer out of the box, flinging it down to join the remains of the first two at the bottom of the underpass. “Fuck yeah!”

It takes a while of wandering the streets to find what they need to sate their craving, but they eventually stumble across a food truck parked in front of a bunch of retail stores, people filing in and out through all the doors so fast that it leaves him dizzy. Fiona approaches the guy in the truck and orders an unnecessary amount of tacos, like so many tacos they’ll be swimming in tacos, and they meander by a nearby street light playing chopsticks until the vendor calls out that their food is ready.

“That’ll be a hundred credits,” he says as he hands the bag to Rhys over the counter, grease already dripping from the paper.

Fiona pats down her coat, retrieving two wadded up fives from the pocket and slapping them down in front of the vendor.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unamused. “We don’t take cash here.”

Fiona plants her hands on her hips with a huff. “Well, why the hell not?”

“Fides Commerce phased it out over ten years ago, lady. It ain’t worth nothin’ anymore.” He sighs and tosses the money back in her face. “You gonna pay for real or not?”

Fiona looks to Rhys expectantly. He digs around in his pants pocket for a moment but all he finds is this... shitty little mood ring? What?

“Yeah, okay, that’s what I thought,” the guy in the food truck grouses. “Just give me my damn tacos back.”

Rhys clutches the bag closer on instinct. Fiona must have the same idea because she turns to him and says, “Run.”

So they run. Or really, they sort of half jog, half stumble their way down the street, pushing past throngs of people to put as much distance between them and the food truck guy as possible. They’re about halfway down the block before Rhys realizes they could have just scanned their stupid chip thingies to pay for the food, but, well, it’s too late now. The crime’s been committed, and he’s committing to the crime. And the tacos in his hands smell _really_ good, which is super distracting. What the hell are they supposed to be doing again?

Rhys stops running and Fiona catches up shortly after, apparently having lagged a little behind for one reason or another. She tumbles right into him and knocks him back against the wall of some apartment building or something, he doesn’t really know, and her fingers twist into the lapels of his coat.

“Kiss me,” she pants so heavily that he can hardly even make the words out, and he’s quite certain he completely misheard her until she repeats, “Rhys. Kiss me.”

“I don’t- What? Why?” he asks in between gasps of his own, his voice immediately going, like, two and a half octaves higher.

“PDA always grosses people out,” she explains, breathless, pulling him closer with every word. “He’ll run right past us without even noticing. Just- Just trust me. It’ll work.”

He’s pretty sure the guy isn’t even chasing them anymore, if he ever was to begin with, but. “That sounds stupid, Fiona.”

She scowls. “It’s not stupid! It’s genius!”

No, it really isn’t. He casts a desperate glance over his shoulder, searching for a better solution than drunkenly making out on the sidewalk, and finds his saving grace in the form of a fire escape in a nearby alleyway.

“This way.” He grabs Fiona by the wrist with the hand that isn’t full of precious, tasty cargo and starts pulling her towards the alley, much to her immense displeasure. He guesses she really wanted that kiss or something. Or maybe she just wanted to be right.

Well, too bad for her. They stop right under the ladder that someone forgot to pull back up into the fire escape, and Rhys gestures for her to go first. “After you.”

After a lot of pouting on her end and physical poking and prodding on his, she eventually gives in and starts climbing. They somehow make it all the way up without falling to their deaths, and quickly find themselves a comfy spot against the concrete barrier that winds all the way around the perimeter of the roof before digging in to their bag of tacos.

Rhys gets about halfway through his third one before announcing, “These taste like shit.”

Fiona hums her agreement as she reaches for another. “They really do.”

Still, they nearly finish the entire bag between them and toss the rest off the edge of the roof to watch in glee as they splatter across the ground so far below.

And then they sit back against the barrier again, tilting their heads back and watching the sky above them that looks so desolate, even the brightest of stars snuffed out by the light of the city. It looks so lonely up there, so lonely that his heart aches from it. It reminds him of everything they’ve lost and everything they have to lose.

Fiona hops up suddenly, taking a few wobbly steps before spinning around and holding a hand out to help him up. “Dance with me.”

He considers her fingers skeptically but takes them after a second, pulling himself to his feet. “I... don’t really dance.”

“I don’t either,” she says as she leads them further away from the edge of the roof so they don’t accidentally bump into the barrier. “But being spom- spontame-” She huffs impatiently, slowly sounding out the syllables, “ _spon-tan-e-ous_. God. Doing that never killed anybody, right?”

“No, but trying to spit out the word might,” he teases as she wraps her arms around his neck and scoffs. “But, uh, we don’t have any music, so. How do we-”

“Don’t need any,” she says simply, starting to sway to some inaudible rhythm. Or maybe that’s just drunk swaying. Kind of hard to tell.

“Or you could sing, if you want,” she suggests after a moment, nose scrunching up cutely in amusement. “I’ve heard you in the shower before. You have a nice voice.”

Oh, god. He doesn’t know if he should be more embarrassed by the fact that she’s listened to him in the shower, or that she resultantly knows he likes to sing. He settles on being equally humiliated by both, but still winds his arms around her waist and tugs her closer. “I’m not going to sing.”

“Aww,” she says, and actually looks sad about it.

So sad, in fact, that he almost changes his mind. But then he remembers how choked up he gets whenever he tries to sing around other people, so he compromises. “Okay, fine, I’ll- I’ll _hum_. But that’s it, okay? And don’t give me shit for this later.”

She smiles so wide he’s amazed her face doesn’t crack in half from the effort of it. “Deal.”

So they dance, or do something that at least kind of resembles dancing. It’s really just rocking gently along with no real flow or tempo as he hums old songs he’s heard on the radio a million times into that little space where her neck and shoulder meet. A chilly breeze picks up around them, ruffling Fiona’s hair and causing a few strands to tickle at his nose. But he doesn’t move, finds he just doesn’t want to, doesn’t think he ever will.

She’s just... irresistible. She’s like a sun peeking above the horizon, like rays of blood streaked across a morning sky. Stars and moons and planets cower at her feet as she passes by lest they get tugged into her orbit. That’s what happened to him, he got too close too many times and now he’s addicted to the feeling of her warmth. He could spend a hundred years circling her and then a hundred years more and still, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

She’s a sandstorm in his heart, a force of nature careening through his veins with every look and laugh and smile. She’s a wildfire in his bones, igniting every nerve with sharp eyes and sharper words and sharpest fingers digging into every fiber of his soul. She’s normally so transient- she’s told him so- there and gone again without anyone ever really having noticed in the first place. Her line of work requires it; a vagrant thief, a fleeting conwoman, never having the luxury of one specific place to call home.

But she grew roots in him.

And sometimes, it feels like bleached bones in the sand. Like cracked lips and sunburned palms. That’s when they fight, when they scream and yell like they’re worst enemies instead of best friends. But they always gravitate back together, picking up the pieces and mending the wounds they gave each other with tenderness and care. And they forgive. And they learn. And they grow.

Together. Always together.

He wants to tell her all this instead of just thinking it. He wants to tell her so, so badly because he likes her, god, he likes her _so much_ , but.

He can’t.

The words die in his throat before they’re even really born. His mouth tastes like ash but she’s still here, standing in his arms with her head on his chest and for now, that’s enough.

He leans back to capture her face between his hands after a few more minutes, making her blink in surprise.

“I have something for you,” he tells her, dropping one hand to dig around in his pocket for a moment before pulling out that mood ring from earlier. He remembers now; he got it the same place they got the beer, that shifty corner store a few blocks over with the cameras everywhere. They had a bunch of those machines by the door, filled with all those little plastic balls with prizes inside so you never really know what you’re going to get. He swiped his stupid chip at least ten times in hopes of getting this thing just because the picture on the front of the machine showed the gem in it as being the most peculiar green color. Almost the exact same color as Fiona’s eyes.

Which is dumb, now that he thinks about it, because it’s a mood ring. So it changes color constantly. But whatever. It’s the thought that counts. It’s bright blue now as he takes Fiona’s left hand and carefully slips it on her pinky finger, trying to avoid touching the worst of her burns.

She looks at it blankly for a moment before a slow smile spreads across her face. “Oh my god. You got me a mood ring.” She looks up at him then, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “That is _so_ dorky.”

“But now I’ll never have to guess how you’re feeling,” he points out jokingly. “And it... seems like you like it? Maybe?” She nods enthusiastically, much to his relief. “So, uh, you know. It’s a win-win.”

She takes his left hand in hers and twines their fingers together, which distracts him so much that he almost misses it when she presents the shitty little ring to him and asks, “So what am I feeling right now?”

The gem set into the band is shifting, changing colors in reaction to the heat of her fingers. It goes from turquoise to the deepest purple with flecks of red and blue, and Rhys has no idea what emotion that’s supposed to be because he’s pretty sure he tossed the paper key that came with the damn thing into a gutter as soon as they left that corner store.

But he makes this big show of examining it anyway, rubbing his chin in thought for a minute before eventually nodding decisively and announcing, “Mysterious. Definitely mysterious.”

“That’s not a feeling,” she argues with a laugh as she runs her thumb over the back of his knuckles. “Try... happy. Or excited. Or maybe even a little...”

He raises an eyebrow. “...Spontaneous?”

She smiles so sweetly that his heart nearly breaks from it. “Yeah. Let’s go with that.”

Sighing contently, she lets go of his hand in favor of wrapping both arms around his neck again, pulling him down closer to her height so she can lean her forehead against his. They’re so close to each other that their noses are nearly touching, and he can count every individual eyelash as she blinks up at him with wide, devastatingly green eyes.

“I actually have something for you too,” she says quietly after a moment, a little breathless, a little shaky.

For some inexplicable reason, his pulse thuds in his ears. Maybe it’s from the alcohol, he reasons, or from the altitude, or from the impossible weight he’s been carrying around for what feels like forever.

Or maybe it’s from the way she’s looking at him.

Her gaze flicks down to his mouth and then back up again in a silent question that has his hands shaking and his breath catching in his throat. They’re on the precipice of something so vast and overwhelming that his knees feel weak from it, and they’re losing balance fast. And he’s scared, god, he’s _terrified_ of taking that final step off the edge, because she doesn’t feel the same way he does, he knows she doesn’t. Maybe she’s being impulsive because he did something nice, or maybe she’s just drunk, but whatever the reason, this- everything she’s doing- it isn’t real. The way she’s looking at him, searching his face for an answer he’s almost too afraid to give...

It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not real.

...Is it?

He suddenly doesn’t know anymore, because here they are anyway, despite all odds, standing in each other’s arms on the roof of some apartment building in some crappy city on some insufferable shithole of a planet, forty-three _goddamn_ years in the future. Everything about this situation shouldn’t be real, and yet.

And yet.

A blast of cold wind takes them by surprise, and they have to stumble against it to keep their balance. And the moment’s over, he thinks, it passed him by while he was agonizing over what ifs and maybes. Fiona takes a half step back with this expression that isn’t hurt, not exactly, but something close, and it feels like a fist closes around his heart.

“Sorry,” she says, all wobbly laughter and eyes that won’t meet his. “That was- I was just- um. Sorry. That was... weird.”

He shakes his head, because it really wasn’t. It wasn’t weird, she shouldn’t be sorry, but he can’t get the words out past the knot in his throat. He just has to watch as she turns away from him and steps out of his reach to go lean against the concrete barrier on the edge of the roof. He doesn’t know how much time he spends standing there staring at the back of her head with everything in him _screaming_ to say something, anything, before Fiona finally glances over her shoulder and tells him they should start heading back.

It’s quiet as they retrace their steps through the maze of busy streets. Not in an overall sense, because the city is just as alive with light and sound as it has been since they got here. No, it’s quiet on a different level. Between them and only them, the atmosphere they share suddenly stagnant. And he doesn’t quite understand what it means or why this feeling is so familiar to him, the feeling that there’s something they both want to say but don’t need to, and something else they don’t know how to explain and are too afraid to try. But it doesn’t sit well, nagging ruthlessly from the back of his thoughts and crawling around like a ghost just underneath his skin.

He’s no closer to figuring it out when they ultimately stagger back into their dark hotel room, cold and exhausted. Neither one of them get very far due to a bunch of luggage stacked by the door that definitely wasn’t there before. They decide to investigate, pulling it all down the hallway towards the foot of the bed and unzipping the compartments only to find extra sets of clothes, including their old ones. There’s also some very familiar white pajamas packed underneath a bunch of stuff Rhys will almost certainly never wear, which gives him a vague idea about who might have had these sent here.

After they change, they both tumble into bed, curling up under the blankets on opposite sides of the mattress. Fiona was right, it is a big enough for them to share without compromising personal space, but seeing the long divide between them makes something in his bones ache in a way he can’t describe. She’s close enough that he could reach out and touch her if he wanted, run his fingers through her hair or trace a path down her spine. But she feels so far away at the same time that there doesn’t seem to be a point in trying, so he just rolls over onto his back and stares at the ceiling until unconsciousness starts to take hold.

“You’re my someone else, you know,” Fiona suddenly mumbles, voice low and heavy.

He’s so close to sleep that he almost doesn’t respond, hanging on to wakefulness by a thread and turning her words over and over again in his head until they make even less sense than they did to begin with.

“What do you mean?” he eventually wonders blearily, turning his head to look at her. She’s facing him now but her eyes are shut, arms wound tight around a pillow she’s clutching to her chest and breathing deep and slow. He falls asleep to that, to the sight of her sleeping soundly right beside him, and to the sound of her voice echoing around in his head.

When he wakes up again, he’s completely alone, and his skull is splitting open on the pillow.

Or, at least, that’s what it feels like as he struggles to sit himself up in bed. Everything’s spinning and his ears are kind of ringing and he has this feeling that he might have to puke here in a minute. Ugh. This is why he hates tequila. Or, well, one of the reasons.

Rhys barely manages to prop himself up on his elbows before just giving up, flopping back down to lay in bed for a few more minutes and regret his life choices. Although this _is_ partially Fiona’s fault for getting him shitfaced drunk and then dragging him around on some wacky adventure through the city. Most of which is pretty fuzzy to him, truth be told, but he does distinctly remember the whole... rooftop thing. And her trying to kiss him. Which he still doesn’t get and he’s not sure if he should even try, at least not when his head is hurting this bad.

Eventually, Rhys assembles enough motivation to push himself all the way up and slowly slide out of bed, because he can’t just lounge around all day. Well, he supposes he _could_ , and he sure as hell wants to, but there’s definitely better uses of his time, so. Up and at ‘em.

He has to squint against the light of the city filtering in through the windows as he does his best to fix the covers on the bed, although the sky outside is still just as dark as it was when they came back last night, so he hasn’t the slightest clue of what time it actually is. Fiona’s nowhere to be found either, not even in the bathroom, but he thinks that particular mystery will have to wait because he suddenly realizes just how badly he has to pee. And he could probably use a shower, at least to help with his migraine. And also brushing his teeth seems like a good idea, because his mouth tastes like an actual dumpster.

He feels marginally better once those first two things are taken care of, and he’s in the process of utterly destroying his teeth with a toothbrush when he hears the front door slide open and someone step inside the hallway outside the bathroom. Rhys spits in the sink and rinses leftover toothpaste out of his mouth before moving back out into the main room. The lights are all on now- which really doesn’t do any favors for his head- and there sits Fiona in one of the armchairs by the windows, fully dressed and somehow looking the complete opposite of hungover.

“And so he returns to the realm of the living,” she says dramatically as she props her feet up on the little circular table in front of her, tearing off a chunk of the muffin in her hands and popping it into her mouth. “How are you feeling?”

Rhys grunts and ambles over to sink down into the chair beside her. “Fantastic, thanks so much for asking.”

“Wow, really?”

“No,” he sighs, propping his elbow up on the armrest and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I threw up in the shower.”

She makes a sympathetic noise as she continues picking at her breakfast. They sit in silence for a minute and Rhys can feel all the things left unsaid hanging in the air between them, but he’s too afraid to point it out and Fiona seems to be perfectly content ignoring it. He probably shouldn’t say anything anyway; he’s not exactly in the frame of mind to be having that kind of discussion right now and it would likely only make things more awkward than they already are.

But... something happened last night. Or, okay, _almost_ happened. And he doesn’t know what it was, or if it was even anything at all, but the fact of the matter is, he’ll never really know if he just keeps his mouth shut. The thought of bringing it up and reliving that mortifying conversation they had outside the Vault isn’t all that gratifying, but what’s the alternative here? Chalk it up to some drunken impulse nearly taken too far and live out the rest of his life without ever really knowing for sure? Yeah, that’s not happening. Like, he could do it, probably, once the initial burning need to know passes, but he’d always wonder.

He doesn’t want to always wonder.

“You’re brooding,” Fiona informs him, and he drags his gaze from where he was staring out at the skyline outside the windows over to her. “Something on your mind?”

And he’s so close to just laying it all out in the open, inevitable discomfort be damned. It’s there, it’s _right there_ , just on the tip of his tongue, everything he wanted to say to her last night and more, but.

Rhys sighs, moving his hand around to rest his chin in his palm. “Not really.”

Maybe there will never be a perfect time to tell her what she means to him. _Really_ tell her. Not just imply it, not act all coy when they’re standing ten paces away from a Vault and the last thing on either one of their minds is what the exact nature of this weird, complicated relationship they have is supposed to be. And maybe it’s naive to wait like there is one, because as so beautifully exemplified by recent events, time has a way of just... slipping through the cracks in a blink of an eye. The last thing he wants is to wake up someday and realize that any tiny, miniscule chance he might have had has long since passed him by.

So. He’ll tell her. He will, he swears by it. Soon, even. Very, very soon. Just... not right now. Not like this, with the words sticking in his throat and his head threatening to implode and this feeling of undeniable wrongness that he just can’t shake.

Or, actually, that last one is probably only because he has to puke again.

Rhys spends a little more time mulling it over before pushing himself to his feet again to go get dressed. Because, unfortunately, they’re never going to get off this stupid planet if they don’t somehow earn about three hundred thousand credits between them. He gathers up his clothes from yesterday- they actually don’t smell all that boozy, which is a plus- and heads into the bathroom to get changed.

By the time he comes back out, Fiona’s moved over to the bed and made a mess out of the covers all over again. She’s on her stomach, stretched out on top of a mountain of pillows and left hand extended as she messes with the AION display in her palm. It’s... a little odd to see her use it, just flicking through all the menus out of idle curiosity. He gets the vaguest feeling that she’s sort of cramping his style.

“I was going to go down and see about cleaning out some poor assholes’ bank accounts in poker,” she tells him as she rubs her thumb over her bottom lip in thought, “but I didn’t want to leave you up here all by yourself. Although you probably shouldn’t come with me either because frankly, Rhys, you kind of suck at cards.”

He scoffs as he sits down next to her and finishes fastening the last few buttons on his vest. “Oh, I do not.”

“I always kick your ass when we play, so.”

“That’s because you _cheat_ ,” he reminds her, poking her in the side. “Which I implore you not to do downstairs, if you can help it. Unless I start putting out applications, you’re the sole breadwinner of this family. So, uh, it’s all on you. No pressure.”

She makes a thoughtful noise at that. “I think you should give yourself some more credit. Or at least think outside the box a little. Everything is digital here so couldn’t you just... I don’t know, do your wacky hacky thing and make a bunch of money appear out of thin air or something?”

“That’s... not really how it works,” he says doubtfully, although the suggestion does kick the gears in his head into motion. “But... I might be able to siphon funds from somewhere else? I don’t really know much about this stuff so I’m not exactly sure how I would do it, but if I could somehow get remote access to, say, banking records, maybe? It should be possible to facilitate transfers from other accounts directly into ours.”

“I didn’t understand a word of that,” Fiona asserts. “But it sounds very illegal. So I like it.”

Of course she does. Rhys sighs and flops down onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “I have no idea how to go about doing any of it, though. Or what kind of fail-safes are in place to prevent this kind of thing. So chances are, if I go into this blind, I’d get us caught immediately.”

“I think I know who can help with that,” Fiona muses, and he angles his head around to watch her navigate to her contact list and bring up the only other person on it besides him.

The call comes up on its own screen, a little triangle emblem animating on a loop as it attempts to connect. It rings for a minute before automatically disconnecting and informing Fiona that the call failed, prompting her to leave a message instead. She just dismisses it with a flick of her hand and tries again, and again and again until someone finally answers and video pops up on the screen.

“ _Oh my god, what do you want?_ ” a grouchy voice comes across the line. It’s not Isabel, weirdly enough. It’s Flick, sitting in what looks like a kitchen and looking very annoyed. And... disheveled. They don’t even have a shirt on, shoulders bare with most of their hair coming loose from its tie to hang down freely around their face.

“Um,” Fiona says, and Rhys sits himself up to lean over next to her. “Why are you...” She gestures vaguely at them with her free hand.

“ _I was sleeping,_ ” they answer automatically.

Fiona raises an eyebrow. “It’s almost 2pm.”

“ _I’m busy. Mind your business._ ”

“Well, which is it?” Rhys wonders. “You were sleeping or you’re busy?”

They huff impatiently on the screen. “ _Is this a social call or was there actually something you needed?_ ”

“Well,” Fiona starts, shaking her head as if to clear it. “We were trying to get Isabel but maybe you can answer this too. Is there a way to remotely access other people’s AION... thingies? Like... pulling up their profiles on your own or something like that?”

They prop their elbow up on the counter in front of them and rest their chin in their hand. “ _Um, I don’t know, probably? You’d have to get access to the chip IDs first and be able to bypass all the security measures, but I don’t think it would be that hard if you knew how. Why do you want to do that?_ ”

“This is purely hypothetical,” Rhys cuts in. “Strictly for educational purposes. But, uh, let’s say it’s possible. Would I, theoretically, be able to get into... banking information? Deposits, withdrawals, maybe even transfers? Again, this is all speculative.”

Flick tilts their head in thought for a moment before realization dawns on them. “ _Ohhh. Yeah, you could probably do that. It’d be tricky not to leave a trail but... I think Issa can help. She's really good with this kind of stuff._ ”

“Great,” Fiona chirps, looking pleased as punch. Talking about committing crimes always does get her in a good mood. Ah, crimes. Criiimes. “Think you guys can get over here today, then? Like, right now?”

“ _Um._ ” They bring up a hand to scratch awkwardly at the back of their neck. “ _Maybe- Maybe in a little while? Just give me, like, an hour to-_ ”

A very familiar voice interrupts them, much fainter like it’s coming from another room but still clearly, damningly audible. “ _Aren’t you done yet, corazón? Come back to bed already._ ”

Flick drops their head into their hands. Rhys and Fiona share a look.

“So you’re busy, huh?” she remarks cheekily, turning back to the screen.

“Real busy,” he chimes in.

“So, so busy.”

Flick makes this long and drawn-out noise that kind of makes it sound like they’re drowning, shaking their head furiously and digging their fingers into their hairline.

“ _Zeezee wants you to come back to bed too,_ ” Isabel calls again from the other room before they’re even done groaning. “ _You know how he gets when we-_ ”

“ _Just give me a minute, Issa!_ ” they yell back at her, not bothering to pick their head up.

And the plot grows ever thicker.

“Busy times _two_ ,” Rhys pipes up after a moment, earning him an encouraging shoulder nudge from Fiona.

Flick drops out of the frame to presumably slam their head against the counter if the dull _thud_ and shake of the camera is anything to go by. “ _OkayI’mhangingupnowseeyoulaterbye._ ”

“Wait, you are coming over though, right?” Fiona asks before they can end the call.

They make another strangled noise before sitting up partially, face so red that it actually looks a little painful. “ _Yes! Fine! Whatever! I’ll swing by in a bit to help you with your stupid embezzlement scheme if it’ll make you shut up and leave me alone. Just don’t call again._ ”

Fiona nods understandingly. “Right. Of course. Wouldn’t want to interrupt your-” They signal cuts out before she can even finish that sentence, making her pout. “Rude.”

Well, that gives them a little time to kill. Fiona keeps messing with the display in her palm and Rhys wanders off to go get some breakfast from the machine down the hall, returning with a package of those little mini donuts and three more muffins. She pleads with him to share but he refuses, hoarding it all on his side of the bed until she reaches over and snatches a muffin for herself when he gets up to throw some of the wrappers away.

They absolutely spend a good five minutes chasing each other around the room for that stolen muffin. He gives a valiant effort, but by the time he finally catches her, she’s already eaten the whole damn thing. He resigns himself to sulk in one of the chairs by the windows while she grins smugly at him from her spot on the bed, although she must start feeling bad after a while because she leaves again and comes back bearing gifts. A whole pile of muffins, deposited right into his lap, plus a container of orange juice and a bottle of painkillers for his head.

Maybe he should pout more often. Free shit is awesome.

He’s still picking at his breakfast when there’s finally a knock at the door. Fiona hops up to answer it and there’s Flick accompanied by some guy Rhys doesn’t recognize. The kid pushes past without even so much as a hello, appearing to be much more put together than they were when he and Fiona called. Their hair is still down though, although it’s clearly been brushed and the right side is sectioned off into a few loose braids along their scalp.

Rhys scoops up his remaining muffins and sets them on the table, getting to his feet as Flick stomps their way into the middle of the room. They glance back over their shoulder when they realize they’re alone, motioning for their companion still standing out in the hallway to come inside. He drifts in, a little unsure but smiling and nodding politely at Fiona as he passes her. He’s only just barely taller than she is, chin-length, bleach blonde hair shaved close on one side. He has... what are those called again? Gauges? And this really confusing jacket that has all these unnecessary buckles and buttons that don’t even look like they serve a real purpose other than to get in the way.

Flick sighs when he stops next to them, and the two of them motion oddly with their hands back and forth for a few moments before the kid shakes their head and turns to Rhys and Fiona.

“Let’s get this over with,” they grumble unhappily. “This is Ezra. Issa had to go do intaker stuff, so he's the one that’s going to help you cheat and steal your way off the planet since earning credits through honest work is apparently out of the question for you dumb-dumbs.”

They continue doing that thing with their hands as they talk, and Rhys is a little slow to figure out why until Ezra nods and looks over to Fiona and Rhys to start to signing something of his own.

“It won’t be that difficult to do,” Flick translates, “but it’ll take some time to do it correctly. Moving large amounts of currency around can be dangerous and- and, uh.” They scoff, swatting at Ezra’s arm to get his attention and motioning grumpily. “Slow down, will you? You know I’m rusty.”

Ezra smiles apologetically, signing at a more forgiving pace to accommodate so Flick can continue, “It’s a dicey game to play in the first place, but even more so for you two because of your situation. If someone reports that they’re missing funds to Sec-Corps and they trace it back to you, it’s all over before it even started. Ezra can make sure that doesn’t happen by setting up a dummy account with special permissions to divert Orcus access to other channels, but gathering IDs without drawing suspicion and actually transferring the funds is still up to you.”

“And... how am I supposed to do any of that, exactly?” Rhys asks, raising an eyebrow. “Since I’m going to go ahead and assume it’s not as easy as wirelessly downloading the data we need from a safe distance.”

Flick continues signing as Rhys speaks so that Ezra can understand, although he must get the gist before they’re done because he nods and drops a hand to partially unzip his jacket, reaching inside to produce a thin, black piece of plastic from an interior pocket.

“What is-” is all Rhys manages to get out before Ezra sweeps forward and pretends to trip into him, grabbing for his left arm to maintain his balance.

“Sorry, sorry,” Ezra mumbles out convincingly, miming the apologetic nature of a clumsy accident while discreetly running his palm up Rhys’ forearm over his sleeve. Ezra looks up at him then, grinning crookedly, and Rhys suddenly notices that he’s standing much, _much_ closer than is probably strictly necessary. Which is... surprisingly distracting. Um.

He steps away again after a moment more of that, holding up that little black card between his fingers- a little light on it pulsing blue now- and pressing it into Rhys’ hand. “See? Easy.”

And then he winks, fingers lingering before drawing all the way back. Which Rhys almost doesn’t even notice because he’s still trying to catch up from before. Fiona is watching the whole thing though, and she looks between the two of them a few times before her expression settles into something... very deliberately neutral.

“Sorry, I, uh,” Rhys coughs and runs a hand through his hair, turning the piece of plastic around in his palm and trying to ignore how everyone is staring at him now. “What- What is it that you just did?”

Ezra happily launches into his explanation, hands moving so fast that Flick doesn’t even try to translate until he looks over to them in confusion and realizes the problem.

“That device is a chip reader,” Flick says when he starts over, slower this time. “It’s capable of picking up the ID codes you need to get access to your target’s banking info, but it’s very close range. So you might have to get creative with how you use it. You can’t just be loitering around one spot and walking into people all day, unless your intention is to get yourselves executed as quickly as possible. Although, they might make an exception for you because you’re-” Flick cuts themselves off suddenly and turns to face Ezra fully with a scowl. “Okay, I am _not_ saying that, Zeezee.”

Ezra smiles again but it’s different this time, somehow. More... smirky.

Rhys clears his throat. And does it again. “What, uh. What... did he say?”

“Nothing,” Flick huffs, still signing the conversation for Ezra. “Trust me, you don’t want to know. He and Issa have always played this stupid game of trying to one up each other on who can be the most uncomfortably provocative and apparently, it’s only gotten worse since I’ve been gone. Newsflash, jerkwad, it’s just as unfunny as it was when we were all picking hairs out of our chicken livers with slaw and you two were making lists of which guards were the most doable.”

He doesn’t look even remotely discouraged, motioning with his hands in a way that comes off as... very suggestive. Or maybe that’s just the look on his face. Either way, Flick chokes in surprise and smacks him across the chest with the back of their hand, face turning so red so fast that it’s actually a little concerning.

While the kid is floundering, Ezra turns back to Rhys, gesturing for him to bring up his AION thing so he can log his contact information into it.

“I will get started on that dummy account for you and let you know when it’s ready,” Ezra says, letting his interface deactivate as Rhys does the same. “If you need my help with anything else, please don’t be afraid to call me. I'm very good at reading lips, among... other things.”

“Uh,” is all Rhys has to say to that, because his stupid, hungover brain is just hellbent on being utterly useless today. Ezra touches his elbow briefly with a hint of a smirk before turning to Fiona, who’s still completely stone-faced.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Ezra tells her sincerely, clearly not put off by whatever her issue is.

She plasters on the fakest smile he’s ever seen her make and crosses her arms, tilting her head pointedly towards the door. “Likewise.”

She watches him leave the entire way out, and Rhys watches her watch him because she’s glowering at his back with the energy of, like, a million suns. He didn’t even know it was physically possible to frown that hard. Her expression eases some when Flick finally unroots themselves and starts making their way out after him with the promise to check in again tomorrow, and finally relaxes altogether when they’re alone.

It strikes him as more than a little bizarre and he’s about to ask what the hell her problem is when she turns to him with a motivated huff and plants her hands on her hips. “So! You ready to get to work?”

He gives her a funny look as she snatches the device Ezra gave him from the palm of his hand. “I thought you were going to go see how fast you could get yourself banned from the local poker scene?”

“Nah, this seems way more fun,” she tells him as she spins that little piece of plastic around her fingers just to show off. “Besides, this part is more my speed than yours. Unless you’ve secretly been a sleight of hand wizard this entire time and just forgot to tell me?”

Well. She does have a point there. And besides, they do seem to work pretty well as a team. Better than they do alone, at any rate. Except when they get stuck in decrepit, old air ducts or find themselves in the middle of a gunfight with a bunch of idiot bandits. But neither one of those things should be a problem this time, so. Fingers crossed.

Rhys grabs a muffin for the road and they head out to start making their way downstairs. A bunch of other people waiting around for the elevator gawk openly at him as he nibbles on his snack, which he tries to ignore for the most part in hopes that maybe they’ll keep their judgement about his diet choices to themselves. Or, actually, maybe it’s because of his implant, since no one around here seems to know anything about the silly, meaningless concepts of manners and common decency.

He’s still moping about it when they emerge from the hotel into the plaza out front. The lights are just as piercing and obnoxious as they were yesterday, flashing relentlessly and making his head throb even despite the painkillers Fiona got for him. She leads him over to one of the benches around the fountain and they both take a seat, settling in to watch the crowd ebb and flow outside the casino.

A few minutes pass, and while he assumes they’re probably supposed to be looking out for noticeably rich people who wouldn’t notice a couple thousand credits missing from their account balance, Rhys spends more time watching Fiona than he does watching everyone else around them. Her eyes never linger in one spot for too long, vigilant but still subtle, analyzing every stranger that walks past so quickly that no one would ever catch her staring. He has no idea how she can do that, just know from one passing glance at a person whether they’re worth chasing down or not. If it were him, he’d probably just be falling into everybody left and right and then leaving the rest to sort out later.

So it’s probably best it’s not him, then.

“You know,” she eventually pipes up without looking over at him, crossing her legs the other way and folding her arms in front of her as she continues searching the crowd. “Staring at me won’t make this happen any faster.”

He props his elbow up on the armrest of the bench, leaning the side of his face into his palm and considering her fondly. “I know that.”

She spares a glance over at him then, raising an eyebrow. “Then why are you still doing it?”

That’s a good question. One that he doesn’t really have an answer for, unless he were to admit that he just likes looking at her.

He shouldn’t even have to explain why that’s not a good idea.

Rhys blows out a breath and shrugs lamely, racking his brain for something safe to say until he finally just blurts, “Your hair.”

“My... hair?” she repeats questioningly, taking a break from her people-watching to face him fully. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing is wrong with her hair. It’s perfectly fine, so he has no idea why he singled out that one thing in particular. Maybe because it’s still odd to see her without her hat, or maybe even because he’s been meaning to ask if she dyes that red streak in her bangs or if it’s naturally colored that way.

Despite coming up with two completely acceptable topics of conversation, Rhys is still fumbling mutely for the words. And the look Fiona is giving him really isn’t helping, inquisitive and keen and just the tiniest bit of smug all at once. He has to turn his head away from her then because his cheeks are getting all hot just from looking at her, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before eventually spitting out, “It looks stupid.”

What is wrong with him.

“Stupidly _good_ ,” he rushes to add before she can, like, slap him or something. But that sounds really weird and over the top so he brings a hand up to rub at his forehead and tries to clarify, “But not- not really good. Not bad but it’s, you know, not the best. But still good! Just not too good. It’s just the- just the right... amount of...”

Fiona lays a hand on his arm as he tries his damndest not to just... burst into tears. “Wow.”

Wow is right. He has no idea what it is about her that turns him into an inarticulate moron at the least opportune moments, but it’s obviously getting worse. It’s actually just downright problematic at this point.

Sighing miserably, Rhys buries his face into his palms. “I’m... sorry. That was- That was bad.”

“What? No way. It was great.” She has just a hint of condescension in her tone as she squeezes his arm. “There’s a fine line between flattery and kissing ass and I have to say, Rhys, you somehow managed to completely miss both of them and edge right into insulting territory. That takes real talent. I, for one, am very impressed.”

Great. Now she’s teasing him. It’s probably not undeserved, but he shoots her a dirty look anyway to at least make her feel bad about it. There must be something else in his expression though, because her gloaty smirk softens into something slightly kinder and she rubs her thumb across the fabric of his sleeve.

“Don’t pout,” she says as she drops her hand to pat him a few times on the knee. “I’m sure your hair will look just the right amount of good too. You know, once it grows out of that douchey haircut a little.”

Ouch. Like a dagger through the heart. Rhys rolls his eyes and folds his arms over his chest, sinking down lower on the bench. “Just... Shut up. Please. For my sake.”

“Not a chance,” she replies cheerfully as she pushes herself up to her feet. “Don’t worry though, the master of charisma will show you how it’s done. Just watch and learn, pretty boy.”

She disappears into the crowd right after saying that, which makes it pretty hard to watch and learn anything. He sits up a little straighter, trying to pick her tiny frame apart from the perpetually shifting mob of people. He eventually manages to locate her again by the stark redness of her coat, standing a ways off from where he’s sitting. She’s talking to some guy that really doesn’t look all that different from anybody else walking around the plaza, but she’s clearly set her mark on him for one reason or another. He can practically feel the charm radiating off of her even from this far away, but she keeps her distance from the guy she’s talking to. She’s not even anywhere near to being close enough to scan the chip in his arm if the demonstration Ezra gave is anything to go by. The whole conversation lasts maybe a minute or two before they go their separate ways and she slips through the horde of people milling around out here to make her way back over to Rhys.

“Easy as Sunday morning,” she remarks as she sits down next to him again, and he considers her skeptically until she hands over the device so he can see the blue light on it blinking in confirmation.

He looks from the scanner to her and back a few times before shaking his head in disbelief. “How the hell did you-”

“That’s the power of tact and eloquence,” she interrupts before he can even get the whole question out, folding her hands in her lap and appearing to be extremely proud of herself.

“I was watching you the whole time and you didn’t even _touch_ the guy,” he argues incredulously.

Plucking the device out of his fingers, she leans back with a grin. “A con artist never reveals her secrets.”

And then she actually _winks_ at him. Which is enough to throw every single train of thought he has going so completely off the rails that he’s left to scour through the wreckage for something smart to say. Or at least something that’s not totally stupid.

He doesn’t get a chance to say anything at all though, because Fiona hops back up to her feet again after a moment and turns around to offer out a hand. “Come on, let’s walk around before people start wondering why we’ve been sitting here so long.”

He really doesn’t think anyone passing by is observant enough to notice they’re loitering, but he takes her fingers and pulls himself up anyway. She keeps a hold on him even once he’s standing, spinning around to tug him across the plaza and taking them through dense groups of people even when there’s a way more convenient route they could have taken. When they finally come up on the relative desertedness of the sidewalk, she releases him, flashing a smile over her shoulder and showing him the scanner again.

“Four,” she tells him cheekily. “Almost five, but some jackass with a nose ring got in the way.”

He throws his hands up in exasperation. They didn’t even _stop_. Not for one second. “I don’t- You just- _How_?”

She laughs, loud and bright, and grabs his hand again to start pulling him towards the crosswalk.

They spend hours wandering through the city, just like they did last night except now they’re significantly less drunk. And also on a very important, felonious mission. They walk they streets and follow crowds so Fiona can do... whatever it is that she does. Rhys spends a lot of time trying to figure it out, but he can never catch exactly when she does it. He eventually concludes that magic is the only viable explanation, because anything else just doesn’t make sense.

It’s a lot of footwork, which is tiring and frankly tedious after a while, but they find ways to amuse themselves. Mostly by pestering other pedestrians on the sidewalk by being loud and obnoxious, but they also occasionally stop into stores to look at things they either don’t need or can’t afford just for the hell of it. They even find this antique shop that has a bunch of so-called old tech just piled up in boxes, and while he doesn’t find any brands he recognizes, a lot of it does look eerily similar to what he’s used to.

Fiona, thankfully, doesn’t try swiping anything this time, content to simply peruse through the other sections until they both get bored and drift back out onto the street. It’s around this time that getting food starts sounding like a very good idea, though they have to spend an almost embarrassing amount of time arguing over what they even want to eat before finally deciding on something that’s always good no matter what kind of mood you’re in.

They find a walkway over a river and sit down to let their legs dangle over the side through the railing, setting their dinner on the ground between them. Rhys cracks the lid of the box before Fiona gets herself fully settled, and he recoils forcefully in disgust at what he sees.

“Why,” he starts, watching her take a slice for herself with a curled lip, “is there _pineapple_ on it?”

She takes a bite and blinks at him slowly. “Because pineapple on pizza is delicious?”

He shakes his head vigorously. Oh, no. No way. This is _not_ happening. “I don’t- I just- I can’t believe you would do this to me. And here I thought we were friends.”

“Oh my god,” she says around a mouthful of her disgusting pizza, making a face at him. “It’s not that big of a deal. Just pick it off if you don’t like it.”

“You- I don’t-” he sputters, utterly taken aback. “You can’t just _pick it off_. It’s already been contaminated! The second someone even _thought_ about putting any kind of fruit on this pizza, it was ruined. The taste of citrus will be haunting me in my nightmares tonight so, you know, thanks for that. Thanks so much.”

“It’s not even citrus.”

“I- What?”

“Pineapple,” she clarifies as she tears off a piece of pepperoni to eat it on its own. “It’s not a citrus fruit.”

Rhys buries his face in his hands, groaning. “That is sooo not the point! I just- You’re asking me to commit an ethical malfeasance here. This goes against everything I stand for. I have standards, Fiona. _Morals_.”

She hums thoughtfully, tilting her head and leaning back on one hand. “You were a theater kid in school, weren’t you? Like the whole... drama club thing?”

Yes. “ _No_.”

“You totally were,” she muses as she nudges the box closer towards him. “Eat your pizza, dork.”

He huffs and puffs a lot first, but he does finally cave because he’s hungry and the place they got the pizza is a good five minute walk away from here so it’s really not worth it to go back and get his own. But he makes sure Fiona knows just how unhappy he is about this twisted turn of events. He tries peeling off the chunks of pineapple like she suggested, but that winds up taking most of the cheese with it so he’s forced to resign himself to eating the whole damn thing, fruit and all. Consider this the last time he ever lets her order food for the both of them. She clearly just can’t be trusted.

They finish the whole pizza between them and Rhys gets this horrible sense that he just did something very bad. It’s like the same feeling he gets when he’s being exceptionally lazy after grocery shopping so he just leaves his cart in the middle of the parking lot like an asswipe. Like, who does that? Nobody. Not anyone with a conscience, at least.

The same goes for pineapple on pizza. It’s just plain wrong on so many levels. Granted, it didn’t wind up tasting all that bad, but that’s not what this is about, okay? It’s the semantics! It’s the philosophical context! First they put fruit on pizza, then what’s next? _Vegetables_? That’s how they get you.

They spend a few more hours making rounds around the city before fatigue starts to set in and they head back to the hotel. Fiona immediately makes a beeline for the bed once it’s in sight, face planting on the mattress with no hesitation. Rhys crashes right beside her on his back instead, kicking his shoes off with a sigh of relief at finally being off his feet. They soak it in for a few minutes, just the pure bliss of being stationary, before Fiona sits back up with a yawn and drifts into the bathroom to take a shower.

He listens to the water run as he idly brings up the AION display in his left palm, swiping through the menus for a bit out of sheer boredom. Then, just for shits and giggles, he activates his palm interface in his cybernetic hand, comparing them both side by side in something akin to amusement. Like, gee Rhys! How come you get to have _two_ hand displays?

Ha. Too good.

When Fiona finally emerges from the bathroom, hair dripping wet and already in her pajamas, Rhys stands up to go hop in the shower real quick too. He took one earlier, but that was mostly just to help his head feel better, so he hadn’t actually spent a lot of time with a bar of soap. Or with the... weird soap water this place has. Whatever.

He’s already in by the time he realizes he forgot to grab a change of clothes, but he guesses it’s fine. He can get redressed and gather up some pajamas afterwards. He’s almost done rinsing himself off when he hears the door in the hallway outside slide open like Fiona’s going somewhere, so he hurries to finish up in hopes that maybe he can just change in the main room before she gets back.

After drying off and pulling his pants back on just to be safe, Rhys tiptoes back out into the main suite over towards where they piled all the luggage Isabel had sent over. He crouches down to dig through it for a few moments, pulling out a fresh set of crisp, white pajamas and standing back up again when fingers suddenly brush against his lower back.

It startles him, enough that he jumps and spins around and has to bite his tongue so he doesn’t scream in shock. But he relaxes with a sigh when he sees it’s just Fiona, hand still stretched out from where she was touching him and blinking in surprise.

“Don’t _do_ that,” he grouses at her, clutching his pajamas closer to his chest. “You scared me half to death. I thought I heard you step out.”

“I came back,” she says simply, like that wasn’t already incredibly obvious. And then she reaches out again, grazing her fingers across his stomach and coming to a stop just above his hip. Which is... weird. This is weird.

“What’s this from?” she asks him softly, and he has to glance down to see what she’s referring to. She’s following a path down along a crooked, faded scar on his side, eyes wandering until they move all the way back up to meet his.

“Uh.” He clears his throat and drops his head to stare down at the clothes in his hands because it is _surprisingly_ difficult to string together a coherent sentence when she’s dragging her fingers across his bare skin like that. “I, uh. I was... I was riding my bike when I was, um, eleven maybe? And got... hit by a car.”

“Wow,” she murmurs. Still touching him. Still weird.

But not bad weird. Best to clarify.

“Yeah,” he pipes up after another moment. “I almost died.”

No he didn’t. Why did he say that.

He wants desperately to sidestep around her and get out of her reach before even more stupid shit comes out of his mouth, but when he tries, he finds he’s completely rooted to this spot. She’s barely even touching him, tracing ghosts of shapes across his ribs, but it’s still enough to hold him captive. Even when she drifts upwards over the scores of lightning on his collarbone, along borders of blue on his chest and arm, all he can do is stand there, mute and enraptured, and watch as she figures out the best way to make him unravel.

And then she blinks, like she’s only just now realizing what she’s doing, and talks a half step back as she drops her hand. “I- I, um-”

He catches her fingers in his before she can move too far away, which makes her flinch. It’s her left hand, the burns there still fresh and tender, so he relaxes his grip apologetically. But not before noticing the crappy little ring he’s surprised to see her still wearing on her pinky finger.

The ring he gave her. He almost completely forgot about that in the midst of all his other fuzzy memories from last night. Has she been wearing that all day? And he really didn’t catch it until just now?

She sees him looking and snatches her hand away real fast, hiding it behind her back like maybe he’ll forget about it as soon as it’s not in his line of sight.

“Fiona,” he says her name slowly, waveringly. They’re on the brink of something again, wind blowing at their backs, and there’s a gentle calling urging them to walk over the edge. But he doesn’t even get a chance to hesitate this time because it’s Fiona who backs away, shaking her head and laughing so casually, so _easily_ that the moment shatters into so many tiny pieces that it’s like it never even happened to begin with.

“Put a shirt on, weirdo,” she tells him as she pushes past, like everything is normal. Like it was all in his head the whole time. And he starts wondering if it was, really wondering, because when she sprawls out on the bed to make herself comfortable under the covers, he gets a look at her hand again, and the ring on her pinky is gone.

He tries not to think about it as he gets changed in the bathroom and then crawls into bed next to her, he really does. Because maybe it doesn’t mean anything, maybe he’s just seeing what he wants so badly to see. But she’s been different since the Vault, they both have, and sometimes she looks at him with something so soft and sweet in her eyes that he can’t help but think that maybe something’s changing.

Rhys stares at her back until he can’t take it anymore, scooting over to bridge the gap she’s so intent on keeping between them. And when he slides his hand across her hip, she sighs, rolling over to yawn sleepily at him before letting her eyes slide shut again and pulling herself close enough to bury her face in his chest.

Yeah, he thinks as he gently presses his lips to the top of her head. Maybe.

They wake up the next morning to a sky more gray than black. Nighttime is finally waning, but they still have a ways to go until sunrise. It’s really starting to throw him off- just the constant state of gloom and darkness- so much so that Fiona has to all but drag him out of bed because his body clock is whining for more sleep. But he gets up on his own (eventually) and prepares himself for another long day of crime ahead of them.

It’s the same routine as yesterday; walking around with no real direction with Fiona swiping IDs off of people left and right. He bugs her so persistently as the hours tick by that she finally gives in and tries to explain it, although it still flies way over his head until she actually demonstrates on him. All she does is wait for a distraction and then take advantage of it. Which doesn’t really explain how she scanned that first guy yesterday- because really, she wasn’t even standing that close to him- but it does lend a little insight as to why she prefers moving through thicker crowds instead of around them.

It’s actually such a stupidly simple explanation that he’s amazed he couldn’t figure it out on his own. He guesses he just thought there must have been more to it; some kind of sneaky, conniving trick to add to the never-ending list of things Fiona does that are sneaky and conniving. But even though now he knows how she does it, it’s still shockingly effective no matter how many times she repeats the sleight on him. Which... might be because he finds her distracting for, uh, different reasons.

By the time they get back to the hotel for the night, Rhys checks his messages for any word from the kid. There’s nothing, which strikes him as a little odd, but there is a message from Ezra informing him that the dummy account is activated and ready for when he wants to start the transfers. There’s a bunch of instructions along with it that he mostly skims through because it all seems easy enough, and then a reminder at the end that Ezra is always available for any kind of help Rhys might need. Any kind.

Another message comes through just as he gets done reading that, and this one is composed entirely of an unnecessary amount of winky faces. Plus some, uh. Other... symbols.

Rhys spends about ten minutes attempting to form an appropriate reply before finally just giving up and letting the interface deactivate altogether.

He and Fiona crash into bed all worn out and freshly showered again, and it’s not long before they gravitate back together. They didn’t talk about it this morning and they certainly don’t talk about it now, both content to just... let this be an unspoken agreement between them. He sleeps more soundly with her in his arms than he has in over a year by himself, warm and safe from the roaring voices in his dreams for now.

The next day is much like the past two have been, with the very major difference of how much light is in the sky. It’s like the sun is struggling to pull itself above the horizon, rays of color starting to streak through the murky gray of predawn. Fiona tries to impart some of her infinite criminal wisdom as they walk the sidewalks today, pointing out the best kinds of people to go for and how to know when to back off. He still doesn’t get it, exactly, but maybe that’s because she’s spent her entire life doing things like this and he’s only been tagging along as a reluctant sidekick for three days. She even passes the scanner off to him for a little while so he can give it a shot, but the only time he manages to get anything is when he stumbles into somebody on pure accident. And even then, he gets shouted at until he feels very small, so he goes ahead and hands the device back to Fiona as soon as he gets the chance to because this clearly just isn’t his calling.

They head back earlier than they previously have been so Rhys can get started on actually transferring credits off the IDs, since all of this will have been for naught if the cash stays in the accounts it legally belongs to. It’s gotten brighter with every passing hour, the sky just starting to pink and red and orange as dawn finally breaks over the city. They get a nice view of the skyline from the room in the hotel, and he might have even taken the time to admire it longer had something on the desk in front of them not immediately caught his eye.

“Holy shit,” Fiona blurts before he can even register what it is, rushing forward so fast that she nearly loses her balance on the step down off the hallway platform. “I don’t- I can’t believe- _H_ _oly shit_.”

Rhys slowly approaches to stand beside her as she snatches her hat off the desk and clutches it close to her like an old friend she hasn’t seen in forever. Wow. He... really wasn’t expecting to see that just perched carefully on a desk and waiting for her with how fiercely the kid’s been hanging on to it. He raises an eyebrow as she coos over the damn thing, briefly worrying for her sanity.

“Missed it that bad?” he remarks dubiously.

“ _Um_ ,” she starts, glaring daggers over her shoulder. “Have you been living under a rock this entire time or did you just miss the part where I’ve been missing a literal piece of my soul?”

Uh. That’s... She’s still talking about her hat, right? God, she’s so weird. He must be giving her a funny look because she scowls in his direction as she picks at a loose thread on the brim. “Stop judging me.”

“Me? What? Judging _you_?” He shakes his head. “No way. Go ahead, continue your heartfelt reunion with a very easily replaceable inanimate object. Just pretend I’m not here.”

“Sass isn’t a good look for you,” she informs him snarkily.

“Every look is a good look for me.”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. Just let me have my moment, jackass.”

He- begrudgingly- lets her have her moment. Which mostly just involves brushing at the sand that’s still dusted all over the fabric and checking for any new defects that weren’t there before. And then she sighs contentedly, flipping it over in her hands so she can slooowly lower it onto her head. Rhys tries not to roll his eyes from the drama. Once her hat is in place, she just- she _beams_ , which, on one hand, makes her look so pretty his heart nearly breaks from it, but on the other, he just... doesn’t get it. At all.

“We are officially,” she starts as she plants her hands on her hips in an exaggerated stance of triumph, “back in business!”

“Pretty sure we’ve been in business this whole time,” he tells her flatly, wandering around her and over towards the desk to pick up a sheet of paper that must have been sitting right next to her hat. He squints at the words on it for a minute, so long and so intently that Fiona eventually comes up to peek over his shoulder to see what he’s looking at. And then they both just silently study the lines and scribbles until he finally announces, “I have no idea what the hell any of this says.”

“Me either,” she agrees as she takes the paper from him to examine the marks on it more closely. “Is this supposed to be an ‘E’ or a ‘K’? And what is even... going on with all this...”

She trails off as she continues trying to make sense of the note, but Rhys has a better idea. He makes his way over to their pile of luggage, finding their old clothes in the depths of one of the bags and digging around in pockets until he finds the walkie talkies they’d used to get through the prison in the mountain pass. There’s no guarantee that Flick will answer, but it’ll probably be faster than attempting to decode their terrible handwriting.

“Paging, uh, Doctor Dumbass,” Rhys says into the receiver of his annoyingly cat-themed walkie, handing Fiona’s over to her when she spins around curiously. “This is to inform you that we’re revoking your medical license because you can’t be trusted to treat your patients if you never even learned how to write.”

The line is quiet for so long that he assumes they must be out of range or just don’t have their walkie on them. Fiona goes back to pouring over that piece of paper and Rhys falls back onto the bed, kicking his shoes off and just starting to get comfortable when the radio in his hand crackles to life.

“ _I don’t even have a medical license, so joke’s on you, Loosie Goosie._ ”

Why is he not surprised. He and Fiona exchange a funny look anyway as he raises his walkie back up to speak into it. “Care to enlighten us as to what was so important you had to leave a note about it but not important enough to stick around and tell us yourself?”

There’s another long pause before they answer, “ _Oh, are you- Seriously? All this time and neither one of you thought it necessary to tell me you’re both illiterate?_ ”

“We’re not the illiterate ones, kid,” Fiona says into her own radio, abandoning the sheet of paper on the desk to come over and sit next to Rhys on the bed. “Your handwriting is unreadable.”

“ _Whatever,_ ” they grumble, and there’s a bunch of odd noise in the background before the signal cuts out for a minute. It’s just dead silence until they finally come back over the line again, “ _Look, I, uh, don’t really have a lot of time to go into specifics here. That’s why I got all gross and sentimental in my note but I guess I can paraphrase._ ”

Rhys sits up at the strange note of urgency in their tone. “Is... Did something happen?”

“ _Not yet, but... soon. It’s why I didn’t get a chance to check in with you guys yesterday like I said I would._ ”

He and Fiona share another look that’s less amused and more... uncertain. It had seemed bizarre for them to go radio silent like that, but he hadn’t really thought too much of it. He’d just assumed they were busy with... whatever it is that they’ve been doing since they all got here. He and Fiona have had enough on their plate without having to worry about what kind of trouble the damn kid has been getting themselves into.

But now he’s a little regretful he hadn’t paid more attention, as much as he hates to admit it. He’s quiet for a minute, everyone is, until Fiona finally gets the guts to ask, “What’s going on?”

Flick sighs deeply. “ _There’s, uh. There’s been a leak. From inside the resistance movement. That stupid assistant Issa had? Xavier or whatever? He was an Orcus rat. I knew there was a reason I had a bad feeling about him. No one is that quiet unless they’re hiding something. He’d apparently been gathering intel on all the intakers for months and now they- they know where everyone is. All of us. And they’re coming._ ”

Silence falls again, heavy and smothering. The good mood from even just a few moments ago is gone, replaced entirely by cold fear and overwhelming dread seeping deep into his bones.

There’s something that sounds like yelling and gunfire in the background, but it dies back out after a moment. Flick’s voice wavers slightly as they continue, “ _You guys should be safe, though. At least for now. I asked Issa to wipe you from the resistance records in case something like this happened. She thought I was just being paranoid but I made sure she did it, so there’s no trace of you in the data they stole. They’ll have a hard time tracking you down, so just- just lay low for now, alright? And then when everything dies back down, get to Decima as soon as you can. I’m almost positive you can get back to Pandora from there._ ”

Rhys is frozen. He can’t even breathe. Fiona inhales shakily and blows it back out, fidgeting with the glove on her hand. “You- You’re not...”

Flick laughs a little even though nothing’s funny. “ _I was never even supposed to come with you this far, but I’m... I’m glad I did. Really. And I’m sorry too. About everything that happened to you and about not telling you the truth earlier. And just for the record, the stories don’t do you guys any justice. They all make it out like you were the villains- selfish and cold-hearted and only in it for the glory of opening a Vault or whatever- but they have it all wrong. You’re both good people, I think. Better than most, anyway. Better than me._ ”

Something twists in him then, an ache of a feeling that feels familiar in a way he can’t describe. It hurts though, like something dark and sad is making its home in his heart, but he chokes it back long enough to ask weakly, “Why are you- Why does this all sound like you’re trying to say goodbye?”

“ _Well,_ ” they say slowly. And there’s a pause, a beat of hesitation before they clear their throat and continue, “ _It’s not like I would have given your stuff back if I thought I had any other choice._ ”

That makes Fiona snort but there’s clearly no humor in it. It’s like they’re both on one side of a pane of glass and everything else is on the other. Where they’re at is calm and quiet for now, but he can see it coming for them. Something big, something _bad_ , smashing and clawing at the glass and starting to trickle in through the cracks.

“I, uh,” he starts without really knowing what he wants to say, what he _can_ say, or even what he should. The grim reality of the situation is setting in but he still somehow manages to cast a glance around the room, checking for the familiar shape of what he’s looking for before finally finishing lamely, “I don’t see my stun baton anywhere, so.”

The line is silent for a few seconds, and then, “ _Crap. I knew I was forgetting something._ ”

“What about the favors?” Fiona inquires quickly, almost desperately, like she’s searching for any excuse to deny what’s happening. “You said we owed you favors for our stuff, right? You can’t just back out of that now. Not after hanging on to it for so long.”

There’s more gunshots, closer this time. It’s almost a frightening amount of time before Flick’s voice comes back again, breathless and unsteady. “ _Uh, yeah, I- I dunno. I hadn’t really thought of-_ ”

There’s a _screech_ of what sounds like metal scraping against itself, and then a chorus of screams before the signal cuts out altogether. Neither Rhys nor Fiona dare move, paralyzed by what they just heard. He counts the passage of time by his heartbeat thudding in his ears, the glass shielding them both from total panic splintering further and further with every passing second of complete, dead silence.

Static crackles. Someone coughs, wet and painful.

“ _Actually, I take that back,_ ” Flick wheezes out, and the terror recedes, but only barely. “ _When you get off this miserable excuse for a planet, you can do me a favor._ ”

There’s another gunshot.

“ _Don't._ ”

And another. The lights in the room around them begin to flicker.

“ _For one second._ ”

And a third one. He can feel the electricity in the air.

“ _Ever look back._ ”

The signal cuts out with a burst of static, and power surges so hard through the wiring in the walls that all the bulbs in the lights blow, glass shattering down on their heads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last time I write a chapter that's almost as long as what's already been published, I swear.  
> Also, here's some more [refs](http://gutterspeak.tumblr.com/post/172116288363/hey-if-you-like-really-weird-aus-with-an) that nobody asked for. Go crazy kids.  
> Anyway! This bad boy took a lot of out me. Prior to this chapter, I hadn't really finished all the boring world building stuff so I had to wrap that shit up before I could even start on any of this. Don't bother asking me wtf is going on anymore because honestly, I don't even know. I just write the damn thing.  
> Buuut I just want to say thank you all so much for your continued patience and support because it really means the world to me!!! This thing is like my baby and I'm so happy that people seem to enjoy reading it just as much as I enjoy writing it. So thank you from the bottom of my ❤︎ and I love you all and I'm sorry that I take so long getting these out and also that I probably just gave everybody blue balls but hey they don't call these things slow burns for no reason amirite.


	6. Without Problems or Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! It's, uh. Been a while, hasn't it? (^～^;)ゞ  
> I have another very long one for you guys, just over 54k. I'm really, really sorry and I just cannot emphasize enough that I have no self control whatsoever. The pacing on this one is... odd, to say the least. Go ahead and have a good yell at me in the comments if it sucks that bad I won't be offended lol.  
> This chapter touches on some possibly more upsetting themes so I'd like to stick a couple warnings beforehand so you all can proceed at your own discretion and stay safe!  
>  **WARNINGS: Somewhat intense violence and scenes of gore (nothing overly graphic tbh, really nothing worse than anything we've already been through but just to be safe), implied/referenced drug abuse, and actual (albeit accidental...) drug use.**  
>  With all that being said, I hope you all enjoy!!

Darkness swallows the city whole.

It swells over the skyline outside like a wave crashing against the shore, enveloping everything in its path in one fell swoop. Building after building goes dark until the only sources of light left are the rays of the golden sunrise filtering through the cracks between the skyscrapers, casting everything in warm, orangey hues and throwing long shadows across the floor.

“Shit,” Rhys swears beside her as he stands up roughly, glass crunching beneath his feet. “Shit, shit, _shit_.”

And Fiona’s thinking, yeah, that just about sums it up. She really couldn’t have put it any better if she tried. Shards of the ceiling light not already blown loose by the explosion keep falling from above until it seems like the entire thing must be laying in pieces on the bed and floor around them, but unlike Rhys, she doesn’t move. She’s just... frozen, stuck between this heartbeat and the next while she tries to wrap her head around it all. Everything from what Flick was able to tell them to the sudden city-wide blackout that can’t _not_ be connected to what they just heard happen over the radio.

_They know where everyone is. All of us. And they’re coming._

The bleak finality of it doesn’t leave a lot of wiggle room for hope. Especially since from the way it sounded before the signal went out, they were already there anyway. Whoever _they_ is supposed to be. Sec-Corps? The Protectorates? Is there even a difference or are they both in the same vein of this morally bereft mega-corporation she keeps hearing about that’s almost uncomfortably familiar with its ‘favor our own and screw everybody else’ ideals?

“Shit,” Rhys says again, clutching at his forehead only to snatch his hand away with a hiss of pain and blood-stained fingers. “Goddammit.”

The sight of stark red droplets dripping from his skin is enough to snap her out of it. Whatever the case may be, the kid is in trouble. Just sitting here and brooding over who or _what_ is even behind all this isn’t going to do them any favors, but she and Rhys won’t be able to do anything to help anyway if one of them is actively bleeding all over the place.

And that’s assuming they can even do anything at all.

Fiona shakes that thought almost as quickly as she thinks it. Well, she’s certainly not going to do _nothing_ , that’s for damn sure. Carefully pushing herself up off the bed, she picks her way around the glass strewn across the floor before coming to a stop in front of Rhys so she can reach up to touch his wrist in concern.

“You’re hurt,” she murmurs as she gently pulls his hand away to take a better look. A long gash stretches from the middle of his forehead to just above his right eye, and while it doesn’t look like it’s all that deep, it _is_ bleeding a lot. Even worse now that his fingers aren’t in the way. Eugh.

Rhys balls up his sleeve in his fist when she releases him, gingerly pressing the fabric against the wound in what she’s guessing is an attempt to staunch the flow. But all he’s really accomplishing is smearing blood all over the rest of his face, which is... actually really gross. Fiona tries not to grimace, but gets the impression she’s not doing a very good job when Rhys gives her an exasperated look in return.

“I’m fine,” he tells her as she struggles to school her expression into something more encouraging. Or at least not totally grossed out. “Or, well, not _fine_ , obviously, but I’m, uh... I’m a little more worried about you.”

She glances down when he nods towards her right hand, shocked to discover that he’s not the only one that got hit when the lights exploded from the surge. Beads of blood are starting to collect in the spaces between her knuckles, seeping from long, angry strokes across the backs of her fingers and bubbling up at the edges where glass disappears beneath her skin. What the hell? She barely even _feels_ that. Discomfort twinges slightly when she flexes her wrist around tentatively, but other than that, nothing.

“You, um,” Rhys starts, watching with distinct unease as she continues to clench and unclench her fingers experimentally. Which is clearly freaking him out, and will almost definitely wind up doing more harm than good if she keeps it up, so she stops doing that and lets her hand drop back down to her side. “Are you... okay?”

“I think there’s a first aid kit in the bathroom,” she says instead of responding to that question. Given their current situation, she thinks the answer sort of goes without saying. “Just sit tight for a second and- will you just-” She grabs his wrist and firmly presses it into place over the cut on his forehead until he gets the idea and holds it there on his own. “Keep pressure on that. Ugh.” She gives a little shudder for emphasis. “You look like a serial killer.”

He apparently still has it in him to roll his eyes, but he looks more thoughtful than offended as she turns to make her way towards the bathroom. “Surprisingly not the least flattering thing that’s ever been said to me.”

Yeah, what a shocker. After retrieving the kit from under the sink, Fiona leads Rhys over to sit in the chairs by the windows. He watches her try to open the case with two injured hands- burnt and impaled, respectively- for about three seconds before pulling the damn thing into his own lap and popping the lid open for her, quickly locating the packages of gauze and handing a big stack of them over so she can start tearing them open with her teeth.

It does, however, take another minute or two for them to figure out the best way to go about patching each other up. With the amount of blood pouring from Rhys’ head and the concerning size of the shards embedded in Fiona’s hand, the exact priority they should take here isn’t immediately obvious. But after some creative maneuvering, they find a solution; she takes over keeping pressure on his forehead to free up his hands, and he finds a pair of tweezers in the first aid kit so he can start extracting the pieces of the light stuck beneath her skin. It’s not perfect, but it’s more efficient than taking turns, and considering what’s at stake right now, every second counts.

Fiona sighs heavily, turning her head to consider the city outside as Rhys very carefully continues plucking glass out of her fingers. The plaza below is just as crowded as it usually is, if not even more so due to the sudden influx of people spilling out onto the streets in confusion. The blackout is causing panic to spread like a plague, and she gets the feeling that it won’t be long before all hell breaks loose. If this building really is owned by the resistance movement Isabel is a part of, its name and location are no doubt logged somewhere in the data that Orcus plant stole, which means it’s only a matter of time before this entire place becomes a target. And if they come swarming in the same way it sounded like they did wherever Flick was, she and Rhys are going to get caught in the crossfire, which would effectively throw whatever chance they still have at getting the hell off this planet right out the window.

A light knock at the door interrupts her train of thought, making both her and Rhys freeze and exchange this look of equal parts uncertainty and trepidation. Flick said they should be safe if they kept their heads down, but was the kid taking into account the fact that they’ve spent the last three days swiping bank data off of unsuspecting passerby? Sure, they haven’t actually _done_ anything with it yet, but they’ve compromised a looot of information. Fiona doesn’t know for sure how stuff like this is supposed to work and isn’t well-versed enough in nerd shit to make an educated guess, but what if someone figured out what they were up to and alerted the authorities?

A few seconds of heavy silence pass before whoever’s out there knocks again, harder and much more insistent than the first time. There’s no way to be sure who’s standing on the other side of that door, but it doesn’t seem like they’re going anywhere any time soon, so they’re going to have to deal with it, one way or another.

Rhys has managed to remove most of the shards out of her hand by now, so after swapping places so he can keep pressure on his own forehead, Fiona stands up to start creeping towards the door. She readies her Roshambo, trying not to wince when curling her fingers around the grip sends a stab of pain up her wrist, and quietly slides along the wall of the hallway before stopping just short of being close enough for the door to open on its own. Taking a deep breath, she moves that last step over the threshold, aiming down the sights of her gun and finger ready on the trigger.

The first thing she sees when the door slides open is a shock of bleach blonde hair, which probably would have been enough of a giveaway on its own since it made a pretty big impression the first time, but it’s the weird ass trench with all the pointless straps and buckles that really sells it.

Fiona lets out the breath she was holding, only barely stopping herself from rolling her eyes. Great. It’s... _this_ guy.

“Aaand that’s a gun,” what’s-his-name laughs nervously, throwing his hands up in surrender so fast that she actually feels a little embarrassed for him. “That is a gun you’re pointing at me right now. Um. Please don’t shoot? I have so much left to live for?”

She scowls, not budging an inch and opting instead to keep her gun right in his face. What is he even doing here? Didn’t Flick say Orcus was coming for anyone with ties to resistance activity? Weirdly convenient for him to pop up on their doorstep right after shit from the leak just started hitting the fan. He should be running. Or hiding. Or hell, even wherever the kid was before they lost contact.

“What do you want?” Fiona snaps, narrowing her eyes suspiciously when he sort of dithers instead of immediately answering. “You have about five seconds before I put a bullet in your foot, so you better talk and talk fast.”

“Who are you threatening?” Rhys asks from behind her, still seated on the opposite side of the room. “Is that Ezra?”

Ohhh, of course _he_ remembers his name. Fiona doesn’t bother responding to that question, partially because Rhys has functioning eyeballs and can verify the answer for himself if he really wants to, but mostly just out of spite.

Ezra squirms around for a few more moments, steadily shrinking under her gaze until he finally admits, “Look, I get that showing up at a time like this probably looks a little... bad.”

“I was thinking something more along the lines of downright damning, actually.” Fiona inclines her head in a way that hopefully comes off as really cool and intimidating. “But if you have a better explanation, you might want to-”

“I need your help,” he blurts before she can even get the whole threat out. She frowns, but something in his expression has her sighing and nodding for him to continue. He ducks his head, grateful, and elaborates, “Flick and some others went to try and stop the Division from putting the shields up so we could get out of the city, but they jammed our comms after the power went out. I don’t know what happened- if they managed to overload the grid somehow or if they had to destroy the entire power station- but they already have Isabel, and if Flick is still alive then they have them too.”

Fiona blinks. She only understood about half of that, but it’s the last thing he says that catches her attention. Slowly lowering her arm back down to her side, she regards him skeptically. “What is it you need our help with, exactly?”

“The Division won’t kill them immediately,” he explains. “They’re holding Isabel because she has information they want, and they probably think Flick does too. Names and locations of our more valuable assets and personnel, like myself. Stuff we don’t log digitally so when leaks do happen, we don’t lose everything. They need them alive for now, but they will do whatever it takes to get Isabel and Flick and anyone else they’ve captured to talk. And as soon as someone breaks...”

He doesn’t finish that sentence, but she thinks she gets the gist. Although she kind of wishes she didn’t.

“I have to help them,” Ezra continues solemnly, “or at least, I have to try. But I can’t do it alone. Flick told us how you all got through Killjoy and I... I figured you two can handle yourselves. So I thought... maybe...”

Fiona opens her mouth to speak, and then promptly shuts it again upon realizing she doesn’t know what to say. It’s not like she can tell him _no_. She and Rhys would have never even gotten this far if it wasn’t for the damn kid- and Isabel, by extension- so the least they could do is try to return the favor. But it sounds dangerous, and it likely carries a high risk of getting caught or even killed, so there’s that to think about too. Being dead would suck, unless they came back as, like, ghosts or something. But Fiona’s not sure becoming incorporeal would actually do a whole hell of a lot to solve their problems, so. Probably best not to seriously consider dying as a viable option.

“So, let me get this straight,” Rhys starts before she can really convince herself one way or the other, clambering out of his chair to come stand right behind her in the doorway. “Flick and Isabel and who even knows who else are in the custody of these- these Orcus assholes-”

Ezra nods along. “Yes.”

“-and are probably being tortured for information as we speak-”

“Yes.”

“-and we’re supposed to... what, break into wherever they are and get them all out? Just the three of us? Against an entire arsenal of trained soldiers?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

Rhys considers Ezra blankly for a moment. “Are you completely insane?”

Ezra grins crookedly, although it looks a little forced. “Would it surprise you if I said yes?”

“At this point?” Rhys sighs, shaking his head. “I don’t think anything would.”

“Do you have a plan?” Fiona inquires. “Do you even know where they are and how we’re going to get them out or do you just expect us to be able to wing it?”

“Isn’t that your specialty?” Rhys wonders. “Since when do you have a problem with improvising?”

She gives him a flat look. “There’s a pretty big difference between improvising and going into something as risky as this totally blind.”

“We won’t be,” Ezra assures her. “I know exactly where they are. They’re being held underground in the city’s Protectorate Division headquarters. Getting _in_ shouldn’t be too much of an issue. It’s getting out that could be tricky.”

Well. The fact that he knows exactly where they need to go is helpful. And... very convenient. Fiona watches him silently, doubt and mistrust nagging ruthlessly at her from the back of her mind.

“How do you know all this?” she eventually asks, tightening her grip on her Roshambo out of reflex. “You said you didn’t know what happened to them after the blackout.”

“I... don’t,” he admits slowly. “They already had Issa, but I’m not- I don’t know what happened to Flick. But if they were captured alive, they will both be there. I’m sure of it.” He fidgets with one of the buckles on his jacket as Fiona continues staring him down. “My situation is... complicated. And not very easy to explain.”

Fiona tilts her head to the side, suspicion twisting her stomach into knots. “Try.”

“I may,” he starts and then falters, taking a deep breath and blowing it back out heavily, “sort of... work for... the Protectorate Division.”

Fiona has her gun trained on him in a heartbeat, ignoring the painful spasm spreading through her entire hand like a wildfire.

“Undercover,” Ezra continues quickly, clearly put off by having a weapon in his face again but not stupid enough to let that stop him from explaining himself. “I gather Orcus intel and report back to our movement so we can try to stay one step ahead. You met Charlie, right? At the border? I’m like him. Except most of our covert agents work in Sec-Corps. Or... all of them, actually. Except for me. That’s why I’m here instead of captured alongside everyone else; none of my records were in the data that Xavier stole. My position was too important to risk being compromised. I’m on your side, alright? I know it’s a lot to ask, but you have to trust me.”

She hesitates for so long that Rhys sighs and nudges her in the ribs with his weirdly pointy elbow. Fiona shoots a black look over at him and he just shakes his head in response, like, okay, yeah, _she’s_ the one being unreasonable, right? Excuuuse her for not being more inclined to give Ezra the benefit of the doubt when he just openly admitted to being in cahoots with the bad guys. Why does Rhys even trust him? Does he see something she doesn’t? Or is he just thinking with a body part that isn’t his head?

“Fi,” he says her name lowly, in that tone he only uses when he wants something from her.

They sort of just stare coldly at each other for a minute until Fiona lets her arm drop again with an exasperated huff. She _guesses_ Ezra’s story mostly checks out. After all, if he worked for Orcus for real, then she seriously doubts Flick would have introduced the three of them in the first place. They’ve made no secret of their contempt for these guys and anyone who furthers their cause, so if Ezra really was pulling some double agent type thing, then he must be damn good at hiding it. Nothing gets past that kid. They would have warned her and Rhys if they’d even suspected there was any foul play going on here.

“This better not bite us in the ass later,” Fiona grumbles mainly to herself, finally reholstering her Roshambo before raising her voice again, “Let’s get moving, then. It doesn’t sound like we have a lot of time.”

The built up tension in Ezra’s posture releases all at once. “We don’t,” he agrees, spinning around to start heading back out into the hallway. He pauses before he can get very far though, hesitating for a beat before turning back to her and Rhys. “I... should tell you that this will be very dangerous. There’s no guarantee it’s even going to work. And if something does go wrong, our chances of survival are... not that great.”

Fiona shakes her head. “We know all that. This isn’t exactly our first time at the rodeo.”

“She makes a living out of being daring and reckless,” Rhys chimes in. “I, personally, like to think of it as a fun hobby for when the normal, day-to-day brushes with death just aren’t cutting it.”

She rolls her eyes, bumping her hip against his before turning back to Ezra. “We’ve faced tougher odds than this, believe me. If there’s even a chance we can save them, then we’re with you.”

Ezra looks between the two of them a few times, his expression softening into something she can only describe as deep, sincere gratitude. “Thank you. Really. I won’t forget this.”

And with that, he turns to start leading the way down the hall properly. She and Rhys are right behind him as they all pick and weave their way around groups of people who have drifted out of their rooms to meander around out here in uncertainty. The emergency lights have already kicked on, blinking intermittently and casting everything in an eerie red hue that makes the atmosphere about ten times creepier than it would be if it was just plain dark. But she supposes the light does come in handy when they reach the stairwell. Navigating fourteen flights of stairs without being able to see where they’re putting their feet would have proven disastrous. Or, well, she’s sure _she_ would have been fine, but Rhys, on the other hand... Probably not so much.

Luckily, they make it all the way down to the lobby without anybody taking a tumble. There’s more people down here, mostly crowded around the check-in desk and clamoring at the staff behind the counter for news about what’s going on. Even as they walk outside, it’s like trying to cross an obstacle course; nearly everybody having some place they need to be and not caring about who they run into along the way. Though the ones standing stock still in the middle of the plaza are almost just as bad, like their sole purpose in life is to make things harder and get in the way. It’s somewhat of a miracle that all three of them emerge onto the sidewalk in front of the casino without getting separated, and after checking that everyone’s still in one piece, Ezra turns off to start heading further up the street.

“Is everyone in there going to be okay?” Rhys asks as they continue dodging other pedestrians left and right. “You know, because of the... stuff you guys do?”

Ezra glances back over his shoulder, blinking a few times in confusion. “Sorry, I... Could you say that again?”

Rhys repeats himself but Ezra still doesn’t seem to hear him, and then Fiona abruptly wants to kick herself because he probably _isn’t_. He’s been communicating with them so well that she just... totally forgot that their first and only other meeting was completely signed and translated back and forth by Flick. Ezra did mention he was good at lip reading when he was blatantly flirting with Rhys- a memory that brings back a weird, dark itch of a feeling that Fiona would rather not put a name to- but surely nobody can be _that_ good at it, can they? The lighting was pretty shitty, and she and Rhys weren’t even facing him all the way half the time, but he still somehow understood the entire conversation anyway.

Ezra smacks himself on the temple once or twice without slowing down any, squinting and blinking and rubbing at his right eye before finally saying, “One more time?”

Fiona watches as Rhys tentatively asks his question again, noticing that Ezra isn’t even looking at him. But he nods to himself, apparently satisfied. “Not everyone who works for the Fourth Circle is involved with our movement. Those who are have probably already evacuated and are on their way out of the city as we speak, and everyone else will be fine after the Protectorates determine they have nothing to do with us. They can’t exactly slaughter all the staff without raising some eyebrows, now can they? They have a public image to upkeep.”

“How are you doing that?” Fiona pipes up, unable to contain her curiosity.

Ezra suddenly veers off the curb to start crossing the street, halting unexpectedly and gesturing for her and Rhys to stop too so they don’t wind up getting run over by a bunch of white SUVs barreling down the road. “Doing what?”

“Um,” she stammers. She doesn’t want to be _rude_ , but dancing around the question is probably just as bad. Maybe it’s not even her business- or, actually, scratch that, it definitely isn’t. But she already started digging the hole by opening her big, stupid mouth without thinking first, and now it’s getting awkward because she’s taking so long to answer, but she doesn’t know how to phrase it without coming off as-

“You’re wondering how the deaf guy knows what you’re saying when he supposedly can’t hear anything, right?” Ezra stops that train of thought right in its tracks. He looks over at her, and upon seeing whatever embarrassed expression she’s making right now, spares her a dry grin. “I get that a lot. People tend to assume. But just so you know, I actually _can_ hear you. Sort of. Not very well. Signing is easier and less frustrating, but not a lot of people know how. So I have a little help.”

A soft, bluish ring of light appears around his right iris, pulsing a couple times before dying back out again. Without it, there’s no way to tell his right eye is any different from his left, both plain dark blue in color with no indication of the clearly cybernetic component that’s present.

“You have an implant?” Rhys asks, his interest obviously piqued by this development.

Ezra shakes his head though, turning back around to watch where he’s going. “No, not exactly. It’s more like a... high tech contact lens. It can receive and convert audio input in real time so I can better understand what’s being said. It’s also easily removable- unlike yours, I’m guessing- which is probably the best part about it. Damn thing is _really_ uncomfortable. And it itches. All. The. Time.”

He starts rubbing at his eye as if to make a point, or maybe it really is just that itchy. She hadn’t even thought of something like that as a potential explanation, although maybe she should have. Forty-three years _is_ a long time to develop tech. And it’s not like it would have been outside the realm of possibilities back in their own time anyway. Just look at Rhys. One thought and he’s in full cyborg mode, scanning everything and every _one_ and reading all about whatever deep, dark secrets that damn thing has access to.

Fiona gives this weird little shiver that makes Rhys glance over at her curiously. Eugh. She doesn’t even want to know how far tech has come in regards to _that_ particular function. Ignorance is bliss and all that crap.

The three of them continue making their way down the city avenues, Ezra setting a rather unforgiving pace that no doubt would have bothered her if Isabel hadn’t fixed her ribs a few days ago. The farther they walk, the more the surrounding buildings change; where everything was once bright lights and extravagant facades, overgrown sidewalks and grungy walk-ups take their place. The crowds of people start to thin out until they’re almost completely on their own, save for the occasional small group or lone wanderer. They’re able to pick up some speed as a result, and by the time they finally reach their apparent destination, they’re all a little out of breath.

Ezra leads them up to a tall row of two-story brownstones that have seen better days, wrought iron railings rusted to all hell and the exterior paint faded and starting to chip. Some even look condemned, or maybe the whole boarded up windows thing is just a unique design choice around these parts. Jogging up the steps of the one that looks the least like a murder shack, Ezra enters the building and leaves the door open behind him for Rhys and Fiona to trail in after.

They find themselves in a small, somewhat grimy lobby area that’s totally void of furnishings except for a rickety table at the far end with this really weird looking potted plant sitting on top of it, and two doors on each side of the hall that she assumes leads to four separate units. Ezra heads for the second one on the left, the telltale _click_ of the lock unlocking echoing off the walls as he steps closer to the door, but it still doesn’t open until he does something on this little screen built into the wall right beside it.

“I still don’t know why Isabel bothered installing this thing,” Ezra sighs as he taps out some sort of passcode before being prompted for handprint recognition. “Three kicks and this door is a goner.”

The difference between the lobby and the inside of the apartment is so drastic that Fiona has to do a double take over her shoulder to make sure they didn’t just, like, enter another dimension or something. Everything is immaculate, from the pale, polished floors to the granite countertops in the kitchen on their left. A kitchen that she recognizes, Fiona realizes, from when she and Rhys called Flick about their digital larceny scheme. That was, what, two days ago now? Three? Somehow, it feels so much longer.

The space itself isn’t all that big, a small dining table taking up the center of the room, and beyond that, a sectional sofa and a low coffee table arranged in front of a large screen affixed to the wall. The back wall is painted a dark grayish-blue, like the color of storm clouds, and two wide windows with window seats show off a... rather unimpressive backyard. But everything in here is so neat and tidy that it’s a little unnerving, almost in the same way Isabel’s villa felt empty and unlived in. Except this place isn’t anywhere near as cold; soft blues and grays and wood tones doing a lot to break up the sterile impression it gives off at first glance.

The front door slides shut behind her and Rhys as they step further inside, but they don’t get very far before a distinctly feline noise draws their attention to the floating staircase built into the wall parallel to the entrance. An orange blur comes bounding down the steps, leaping up onto the dining table before skidding to a stop right at the edge closest to Rhys. The cat blinks up at him, and he blinks right back, and they have this weird animal versus human standoff until Lucky apparently decides that he’s not going to wait to be picked up.

Rhys only barely catches him when he jumps off the table and into his arms. He struggles to gather the cat’s feet into his hands so he doesn’t fall, a task made more complicated by the fact that Lucky won’t sit still as he butts his head against Rhys’ chin and starts to purr. Rhys makes this sound in the back of his throat like he is _very_ displeased with this development, but he doesn’t put Lucky down right away either. Fiona has to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling as he reluctantly smooths his palm down over the cat’s ears, drifting over after a moment to pat Rhys on the shoulder with one hand and using the other to gently scratch Lucky underneath his chin.

“Looks like someone missed you,” she tells Rhys as Lucky nuzzles against his chest, which only makes his grimace grow even deeper.

“ _Why_?” he rasps out, trying to keep his face as far away from the cat as possible. “Why _me_? Why not you? You like these things, right? This is- This is just the worst. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.” He ducks his chin so he can glare down at Lucky and address him properly. “You are the bane of my existence, cat.”

Lucky shoves his face right under Rhys’ nose in response, which makes him sneeze. Three times- no wait, four. All directly onto the cat. And he doesn’t even care either, he just keeps rubbing his cheeks all over the front of Rhys and purring so hard he’s nearly vibrating from the effort of it.

“ _Uuugh_ ,” Rhys groans and finally hands Lucky off to Fiona, starting to wipe at his watery eyes with his sleeve before almost instantaneously thinking better of it. “Just... keep that thing away from me.”

“Don’t like cats?” Ezra remarks as he shrugs his weird jacket off and hangs it on a hook beside the door.

Rhys attempts to brush off some of the fur Lucky left behind, sniffling a lot more than he probably really needs to. “More like I’m deathly allergic to them.”

Fiona rolls her eyes and sets Lucky back down on the ground when he starts to squirm around in her arms. “No one likes a drama queen, Rhys.”

“I’ll remember that when I’m dying of anaphylaxis.”

She sticks her tongue out at him as Ezra beckons them over to the staircase to lead them downstairs. He hits the lightswitch once he’s at the bottom, which seems pointless because of the blackout. But the lights do flicker on after a few seconds, so she guesses there must be a backup generator somewhere supplying power to the house. She and Rhys find themselves greeted by a space entirely different from the first floor in that it’s... borderline claustrophobic. There’s just _stuff_ everywhere, boxes of mechanical parts stacked on top of each other and stray wires littering the floor and these pre-packaged blocks of... something sitting in tubs lined with plastic. One of those big, foldable tables is in the middle of the room and the clutter extends across the surface of it, mismatched tools and blueprints she can’t make any sense of and more duct tape she’s ever seen in her life all making an appearance. Ezra delicately picks his way over and starts moving things onto the floor to make room, seemingly sorting through it all as he goes. But Fiona can’t detect any rhyme or reason to it, so whatever system of organization he’s using must be flying waaay over her head.

“Sorry about the mess,” he apologizes as he yanks out a folded up piece of paper wedged under a broken desk lamp and starts unfolding it to spread it out over the table. “Isabel is the one that likes keeping everything... uncluttered. So she doesn’t come down here. She says it makes her anxious.”

“It makes _me_ anxious,” Rhys mumbles, eyeing a particularly unstable-looking mountain of collapsed cardboard boxes. “You ever think about throwing some of this stuff away?”

Ezra shrugs with one shoulder, laying the paper in his hands down flat on the table to reveal what looks like a map of the city. “You never know when something might come in handy later.”

After a quick search, Ezra pulls a marker out of somewhere and uncaps it, tracing a finger along the roads and avenues on the map until he finds whatever it is that he’s looking for. He makes a dot in bright red ink, and then repeats the process, marking two more before he’s satisfied. Then he leans back, tapping on the southernmost one- the map labeled ‘Lower West Concord’ right next to where his finger is- and launches right into his explanation.

“This is where we are right now,” he says as he carefully flattens out a crease in the paper. “Central Dogma is across the river, up here.” He moves his finger up to the second dot he made, a good ways north of the first. “Right in the middle of Somerset Square. Don’t worry, we won’t have to walk all that way. The Division is no doubt putting a curfew into effect while they do damage control, so we will just take my car. The streets should be clear by the time we leave.”

“Sorry,” Rhys interjects before he can continue, “but did you just say this place we have to go- the headquarters, or whatever- it’s called... Central Dogma?”

“Yes.” Ezra glances up at him. “Why?”

Rhys shakes his head, fidgeting a little and crossing and recrossing his arms a few times. “Nothing, I mean- I was just... There’s not going to be, like, giant robots or anything like that, is there?”

Ezra gives him an odd look, squinting slightly. “No? Why would there be?”

“No reason. Just... asking.”

“Oookay,” Ezra says slowly before refocusing on the map in front of him. “Well, the idea is to get in, find Flick and Isabel and whoever else they have, and get out before anyone notices they’re gone. If we can do that, and then get all the way to this border checkpoint without running into any patrols...” He gestures towards the final dot now, all the way on the east side of the city and the farthest one away by a long shot. “...Then we will be able to get out of Fides safely. Not a lot of people come in that way, so the guard assigned there is minimal. Essential personnel only. And if I’m in uniform, I doubt they will even stop us. But if something _does_ go wrong, then it shouldn’t be too hard to take them out.”

Fiona chews on the inside of her cheek in thought. Getting out of Fides is probably the safest bet for the others, but what about her and Rhys? Finding their way home is still pretty damn high on their list of priorities, and leaving the one city on this god forsaken planet that has the means to get them there- or at least, the means to get them one step closer- seems counterintuitive. Especially after all the shit they’ve been through just to get this far.

Ezra is watching her and Rhys closely over his shoulder, and after another moment, he turns to face them completely. “You... don’t have to come with us, if you would rather stay here. It’s dangerous, but assuming we don’t get caught in Central Dogma, you should be able to remain safe until things die down and then buy passage to Decima like you planned. You’ve been using the reader I gave you?”

That last question is directed at Rhys, even though Fiona’s the one who’s been doing all the work. But he clearly doesn’t know that, so it’s Rhys who nods anyway. “We haven’t started any transfers yet, though.”

“Good. That’s good. Wait on that. The Division is monitoring the AION right now for any unusual use, including strange banking activity. It will be safer in a few days or so, I’m sure.”

Fiona nods, satisfied now that they have that issue set straight. “So how are we getting into this place? Since I’m going to go ahead and assume walking in the front door isn’t an option.”

Ezra crosses his arms and leans back against the table. “That’s actually exactly what we’re going to do.”

“Oh,” Fiona says, baffled. “Really?”

He seems amused by her bewilderment, sparing her a lopsided grin. “Really. Ideally, we will be in and out before anyone even realizes we’re there in the first place. Hiding in plain sight is a specialty of mine. Although it’s not like the Division makes it very difficult, what with their ridiculous uniform policy.”

He twists around to grab for the biggest box on the table, pulling it over so she and Rhys can take a peek at its contents. Dark fabric pools at the bottom of the box, and pieces of what looks like some kind of body armor rest heavily on top. It’s all painted matte white with the exception of the incomplete triangle emblems adorning the armor in certain places, glossy black and matching every other Orcus logo she’s seen since they got here.

“There are helmets,” Ezra explains, “so your identities will be protected. I will also switch out the profiles in your chips before we go for an added layer of security since our information will have to be patched into the Division database for us to have access to the lower levels of the building.”

“Are these all in your size?” Rhys wonders, picking up what looks like an arm guard and inspecting it curiously. “Because if they are, I don’t think they’ll fit. Not me, at least. Since you’re so, uh, you know. Short.”

Ezra raises an eyebrow, which, for some really weird reason, makes Rhys _blush_. And then laugh nervously. And then keep talking like he’s trying desperately not to be awkward.

“I just mean,” he starts and then falters, dropping the arm guard so he can card his fingers through his hair and rub at the back of his neck. “I just mean- um. Not in a bad way. Just in a general, ‘Oh this is something I’ve idly noticed,” sort of way. It’s kind of hard not to notice. Not- Not like you’re _unnaturally_ short or anything! I just- I think you’re just-”

“Rhys,” Fiona interrupts, slightly strained. This is so embarrassing it’s actually hurting her. Ezra is obviously enjoying himself though, regarding Rhys with something she doesn’t like the look of dancing in his eyes.

“Is he always like this?” he asks her as he tilts his head in thought.

“Unfortunately,” she replies stiffly.

“Huh.” He looks back over at Rhys, his smile twisting into something... vaguely flirtatious. “It’s cute.”

Rhys gets so _red_ in the face that it can’t not be painful, opening his mouth like he’s going to say something, but then promptly shutting it again before anything can come out. That dark, itchy feeling from the other day unfurls in the base of Fiona’s throat again, this time so thick and inescapable that it strangles whatever passive aggressive remark she might have made otherwise. So they all just sort of stare at each other in weird silence. Ezra doesn’t appear to be discomfited by it at all, however, tapping the box with the uniforms on the side pointedly after a moment before starting to make his way back towards the staircase.

“They all come in one size, since they can... adjust automatically,” he says as he ascends the stairs back up to the first floor. “It’s hard to explain, but trust me, they will fit. So get dressed, you two. There’s a bathroom right through there if you need it.”

He gestures towards the door right across from the bottom of the steps and then disappears without another word. Rhys is still standing there mutely like an idiot a good ten seconds after he leaves so she smacks him across the chest to snap him out of it. He stumbles- an overreaction, she didn’t even hit him that hard- and blinks a few times, shaking his head as if to clear it before finally arranging his expression into a scowl.

“ _What_?” he snaps defensively, crossing his arms and shifting his weight from one foot to the other so heavily it almost looks like he’s stomping his foot.

“Oh, you know exactly _what_ ,” she hisses back as she steps around him to snatch the box off the table. “Just please tell me you’re going to be able to focus long enough to get the job done. This is kind of a life or death situation for all of us and if you keep getting distracted-”

“I _won’t_ ,” he says, still glowering petulantly like she’s the one that’s being ridiculous. “I mean- I’m not. I’m not distracted. And I’ll have you know that I am an excellent focuser. Okay? I’m great at it. I’m the best there is. If there were professional focusing tournaments, I would win all of them. No problem.”

She rolls her eyes as she attempts to pick her way towards the door Ezra pointed out. “I don’t think focuser is even a word, Rhys. At least not in that context.”

“Oh, well, excuuuse me Professor Proper-Grammar-Usage. I didn’t realize I was friends with a walking dictionary.”

Fiona grabs a fistful of one of the dark undersuits in the box and chucks it in his direction. He doesn’t get his hands up in time so it ends up smacking him right in the face, which is probably a good thing because that means he doesn’t see the shit-eating grin she makes as he struggles to free himself from the tangle of fabric stuck on his head.

Once she’s in the admittedly cramped bathroom, she digs out one of the suits for herself, laying it on the sink while she sets her hat to the side and gets undressed. The material is... odd, she notices as she starts pulling it up her legs. Somewhat stretchy and flexible but stiffer than she was expecting. It’s actually pretty comfortable though, once her arms are through the sleeves and she gets the top half situated around her shoulders. A little baggy in places and too tight in others, but as she’s adjusting it, the fabric seems to just... shift to fit her better, somehow. Which is convenient, she guesses, but also super weird. Like, an abnormal amount of weird.

Other than that, she can’t seem to get the back zipped up all the way. She can reach the zipper, but it keeps slipping between her fingers before she can yank it up. After another minute of trying and failing miserably, she finally huffs and opens the bathroom door just a crack.

“Are you naked?” she asks through the gap, tapping her finger impatiently on the frame while she waits for a response.

It takes a minute. She doesn’t even hear him moving around out there or anything until he eventually just goes, “Uh.”

“It’s a yes or no question, Rhys.”

“Um,” he stammers again, and then finally, “No?”

She lets the door fall all the way open and steps out to start edging her way back over towards him. He’s still standing by the table, his suit evidently having zipped up just fine and most of his armor attached already. It’s adequately protective but not bulky, although it does give him a slightly larger silhouette that might be intimidating if he wasn’t, well, himself.

“I can’t get this damn zipper,” she says once she stops in front of him, spinning around and gathering her hair out of the way so it doesn’t wind up getting trapped in the collar.

He doesn’t say anything. Or _do_ anything, for the first few seconds, but then he clears his throat and moves to grab onto the zipper. He slooowly pulls it up, apparently having some trouble with it too as it sticks and gets caught on the fabric. His fingers brush against her bare back more than once, and every time he backs off just a _little_ more like he’s trying desperately not to do it again. It suddenly occurs to Fiona that this was probably an awkward thing to ask him to do, but she didn’t really have an option and it’s already too late now anyway, so she bites her tongue and waits it out until he finally tugs the zipper all the way up.

And she’s about to move away, maybe mumble her thanks in an attempt to make things less weird, but she stops when she feels his fingers in her hair. Despite her best efforts, some of it did end up tucked under the edge of the high-necked collar once the zipper was in place, and he’s gently pulling free all the strands that got stuck. Which is easily something she could do herself, so she doesn’t have any idea why she’s just standing here and allowing _him_ to do it instead.

...Okay, so maybe she has a little bit of an idea.

He flattens down the back once he’s done, and she takes that as her cue to turn around to face him. He’s closer than she’s expecting, hands still raised from where he was fixing her hair. After a moment, he brings his right one up to touch her cheek softly, the smooth metal of his thumb warmer than she thought it’d be as he lightly traces the lightning scars on her cheek.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, taking his left hand hanging by his side and twisting their fingers together.

He blinks slowly, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You’re welcome.”

They stand like that for much longer than they probably should. It’s another moment, like when they went swimming in that oasis, or during that acid storm, or... the other night on the rooftop. There’s something there, between the two of them. Something real and genuine and undeniable but ghosts of doubt and guilt linger just on the edge. So she takes a breath and steps away, just like she always does, releasing his hand in favor of patting him once on the shoulder.

“You still have blood on your face, by the way,” she informs him in that fake-casual tone she’s spent all her life perfecting. “Should probably do something about that before we go.”

“Oh,” he says, not quite managing to hide the disappointment in his voice. “Right.”

Fiona turns to go finish getting dressed. She still doesn’t understand it, just- why he always looks so _sad_ when she forces herself to pull away. He said he was interested in someone else, didn’t he? Not Sasha, not her, someone _else_. He said that, right to her face, and he’s not going to just up and move on just because that stupid Vault zapped them four decades into the future. It doesn’t work like that. Whatever weird, touchy-feely thing they’ve somehow found themselves in the middle of is temporary at best, his emotions misplaced or maybe bleeding over unintentionally. She’d resent him for it, since the entire thing kind of stinks of leading her on, but she can’t really bring herself to blame him since their world has been turned upside down and just about the only thing they have left in this whole wide bitch of a universe is each other.

Or maybe she’s just being selfish. Accepting their circumstances because she knows it’s as close as she’ll ever get to the real thing, even though the only way this can possibly end is in disaster.

Yeahhh. It’s probably that second thing.

Pushing that incredibly depressing revelation out of her mind as best she can, Fiona quickly assembles the pieces to the rest of her borrowed uniform. There aren’t any real straps or fastenings to speak of, which strikes her as a little bizarre, but she eventually discerns that’s because it all sort of just... snaps into place by itself. Kind of like magnets. And once it’s where it’s supposed to be, it doesn’t budge, no matter how hard she pulls at it. Which could be problematic when it comes time to take the damn thing _off_ , but she supposes there’s got to be some method to it and she’ll worry about that when the time comes.

Rhys has already disappeared back upstairs by the time she emerges from the bathroom again so she heads on up, finding him and Ezra sitting at the kitchen island in front of what she’s pretty sure is Isabel’s laptop. Ezra has changed out of his whole tattered jeans and turtleneck getup and into the same uniform she and Rhys are wearing, except he obviously hasn’t finished putting everything on. The bodysuit is bunched around his waist and he has a wide-collared undershirt tucked into it, revealing rows of thin, black lines ranging down across his neck and collarbones. The design is simple but still weird to look at, which makes sense. Weird tattoo for the weird punk guy who clearly never got the memo that shopping in all those stores with the bad lighting and loud music is generally regarded as socially unusual for anyone who’s no longer in their early teens.

“I feel like I should warn you now,” he’s saying as Fiona takes a seat on the opposite side of him, “I only have a vague idea of what I’m doing.”

“That’s encouraging,” Fiona grumbles, propping her elbow up on the counter and leaning her chin into her hand.

Ezra shakes his head, continuing to type away at the keyboard. “This is Isabel’s area of expertise. She’s actually the one that programmed that scanner I gave you for all those credit transfers you’ve been trying to do. She’s always been good with tech. That’s why she signed on as an intaker. Plus it’s a pretty nonviolent position compared to some of the other things we do. Usually.”

He navigates through a bunch of vaguely familiar screens, typing things in and checking off fields until he finally arrives at what must be the last one. Then he plucks this little device that was sitting next to the laptop off the counter, idly fiddling with the casing for a few moments before speaking up again.

“The security measures aren’t that difficult to bypass, but I don’t want to take any chances,” he says. “I’m going to EMP your chips and upload the new profiles while they’re offline. Hopefully that way, none of us will wind up being arrested for identity fraud.”

The way he says that implies he thinks that might be a distinct possibility, but before Fiona can express her doubts, he’s already set off the EMP. Nothing especially strange happens to her, but both Ezra and Rhys are undoubtedly affected by it. Rhys blinks a few times, his left eye flickering like he’s trying to activate the scanning function but it won’t boot up correctly, and both of Ezra’s arms suddenly go slack, causing him to drop the EMP device onto the floor.

“Whoops,” he says, staring after it somewhat helplessly as it clatters across the wood. “That... was not supposed to happen.”

Fiona hops up to retrieve it and sets it back on the counter while both Rhys and Ezra attempt to run diagnostics on their respective... stuff. She gives it a second before clearing her throat and reminding Ezra, “The chips?”

He doesn’t appear to notice she said anything, so his weird contact lens thing must be acting up too. She touches him lightly on the shoulder to get his attention before gesturing to her own forearm where the chip is implanted.

“Yes, right, sorry.” He nods once, turning back to the laptop in front of him. “Everything’s ready. Just scroll all the way down and hit submit for me, if you don’t mind. The program will take care of the rest.”

She does what he says and sits back while the computer works, watching idly as Rhys’ cybernetics slowly come back online. It’s harder to tell with Ezra’s since his arms don’t look any different from the rest of him; no telltale metal pieces or wiring or even any visible boundary where flesh meets machine. It just looks like... skin. Which is weird. And slightly unnerving. But she guesses all the strange looks and offhand comments Rhys has gotten about his arm and eye make more sense now at least, if cybernetics really have moved from looking significantly robotic to being able to easily pass as normal human limbs.

By the time the laptop lets out a quiet chime to signify it’s done doing whatever it’s doing, both Rhys and Ezra have mostly recovered from the EMP. Ezra slides off his stool, a little stiff on his feet and favoring his right side, and Fiona briefly wonders if maybe one or both of his legs are cybernetic too. He makes his way over to the couch where his armor is spread out all over the cushions before picking up these two vaguely foot-shaped discs and tossing them onto the floor. He steps onto them, and they expand upwards and outwards in response, encasing his feet and calves in armored boots that match the rest of the set.

Because apparently just making regular shoes to go with the uniform wasn’t theatrical enough or something.

He grabs a few more of those feet-discs and some other, smaller items before walking back over. “Boots,” he explains, dropping two discs onto the floor in front of each of them. Then he holds out these bracelet looking things and says, “Gloves,” before sliding one onto his wrist and demonstrating that it works much in the same way the shoes do. And finally, he presents the smallest device; a circular clasp that attaches on the collar right behind the ear. “Helmet.”

She and Rhys situate the rest of their stuff while Ezra finishes getting dressed. They also quickly discover that the name plates on their chest pieces have changed automatically to, presumably, match the identities of the new profiles Ezra uploaded to their chips. His reads _Kyle_ , while hers says _Wayne_ , and Rhys jokingly comments that they should probably be switched around. When she asks him why, though, he only shrugs, claiming it would just sound better that way.

Once Ezra has himself all put together, he jaunts upstairs before coming back down with an empty duffel bag in one hand and Flick’s cat in the other. He explains they won’t be coming back here after they escape from the Division headquarters, so she and Rhys fold up their clothes and stick them into the bag for safekeeping until later. After double checking they have everything they need, Ezra leads the way out of the apartment, making sure to lock the door and engage the security system behind them before taking them back out onto the sidewalk.

His car is parked on the other side of the street about a block away; an all-white SUV that’s an exact match to the ones they saw racing down the road earlier. He tosses the duffel into the back on top of the pile of bags that are already there before making his way around to the driver’s side while she and Rhys climb up into the back seat. After everyone’s buckled in and Lucky has been deposited safely into the passenger seat, Ezra wastes no time starting up the engine and turning the car around, taking off at top speed as soon as he shifts into drive.

“It’s just after 1am,” Ezra informs them as Fiona settles in to watch the city whiz past in a blur outside the window. “It’s late, but the Division is on high alert right now, so Central Dogma will be crawling with Protectorates. Luckily, everyone should be busy enough that they won’t question you so long as you don’t loiter or draw unnecessary attention to yourselves.”

“What’s our plan of attack here, exactly?” Rhys asks. “Other than just walking in and hoping no one notices us.”

Ezra makes a thoughtful noise. “I’m glad you asked, actually. This entire plan just so happens to be riding on you.”

A beat passes before Rhys repeats dubiously, “ _Me_? That’s- I don’t- Why? Are you sure?”

“Flick mentioned you’re talented with tech,” Ezra says simply, “and that without you, the three of you wouldn’t have been able to get through Killjoy alive. So yes, I’m very sure.”

Rhys blinks a few times, like he’s having a hard time believing that. “ _Flick_ said that?”

“Not... in as many words,” Ezra admits slowly before shaking his head. “Regardless, we will be relying on you to use those abilities to make sure things run smoothly. The underground levels are strictly off limits to those without special clearance. Not even I have access. So the first thing you’re going to have to do is make your way up to the security tower and patch in our IDs to the database so the scanners will recognize us and let us through. You will also have to hack into the holding cell systems once we find out exactly where Flick, Isabel, and the others are being held. And taking out the cameras so no one sees us on the feeds would probably be in our best interest as well.”

Rhys sighs, rubbing tiredly at his forehead. “Oh, is that all?”

“You... might also have to talk us out of the building so we don’t run into any stray patrols. Just to be safe.”

“Great.”

Fiona gives him a sympathetic look before facing forward again to address Ezra. “So what about you and me, then? We get down there, find out where everybody is, and... then what?”

“We make our escape without being seen.”

“Right. I got that. I think we all did. I just meant _how_ , exactly, are we supposed to pull that off?”

Ezra is quiet for a moment as he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. And then he lets out a breath and shrugs, making a distinctly _I-don’t-know_ sound.

Fiona rolls her eyes. So. They’re winging it. Because she’s so sure that’s going to work out wonderfully for all of them. And that’s assuming Rhys can even make it up to this security tower Ezra mentioned and do everything on his end without being caught. With a foolproof plan like this, what could possibly go wrong?

She really shouldn’t have jinxed it by asking herself that, because things start going wrong almost as soon as they reach the headquarters about ten minutes later. Ezra parks a few blocks away from the building and shuts the engine off as she and Rhys get out of the car. But before her feet can even touch the ground, the sky above them splits open with a thundering so deep and low she can feel it in her bones. And it’s _loud_ , so loud that everything abruptly tastes purple, so loud that the earth she’s standing on shakes like it might open up beneath her. A current ignites from the tear in the clouds and rips through the space between the skyscrapers in flames, smoldering with so much tangible energy that she feels like she’s choking on the heat of it. And then it settles, just for a moment, just long enough that the colors start shifting and blending and swirling into each other in a pattern that’s almost inexplicably familiar before orange lightning arcs across the predawn sky and shatters the light into a million motes of fiery dust.

“What the hell,” Fiona starts, watching as electricity jumps and weaves from particle to particle before they all start falling upwards instead of down, “is _that_?”

“Shit,” Ezra swears before Rhys can even tell her he doesn’t know, hopping down off the curb and coming over to stand next to her and Rhys in the road. “Shit. This is bad. This is really, really, _really_ bad.”

“Why? What’s happening?” Fiona presses as they all watch the orange flecks disappear into the space above their heads. “Ezra?”

He shakes his head, fumbling for the words for a minute before he’s able to collect his thoughts. “The shields. They activated the shields. I thought we would have more time. I don’t- I don’t know how they repaired the grid so fast? It should have taken days or even weeks if Flick and the others destroyed the station like they planned. Or... maybe there’s some sort of backup generator that I don’t know about. That’s possible, I think. But the energy output needed to kickstart the reaction is so massive, I would have definitely...”

He trails off in thought, wringing his hands around anxiously. Fiona looks to Rhys but he just shakes his head, evidently not having understood very well either.

“What does all of this mean?” Rhys eventually asks after giving Ezra a good minute to brood, although it still takes him a few seconds to be fully pulled from his reverie.

“It means,” he starts and then stops again, carding a hand through his hair with a sigh. “It means the plan has changed. We can’t leave Fides, not anymore. The shields prevent anyone without special authorization from getting out. We’re trapped here- the whole city is- until they take them down. Which could be weeks from now, if not more.”

A heavy silence descends upon them, bleak and caliginous. Oh. Well. That... sucks. A lot. His initial reaction suddenly makes a lot more sense.

“Is it... Is it possible to get that authorization, somehow?” Rhys suggests weakly after a moment, but neither him nor Fiona is very surprised to see Ezra shake his head.

“No. That would require getting permission from the Captain of Nonan Operations, or someone else higher up in the Division hierarchy. But that’s impossible. We’d never be able to convince them and we’d likely just expose ourselves in the process. Unless...”

He pauses in contemplation again, steepling his fingers together as he mulls something over. He takes so long that Fiona prompts, “Unless?” only to be furiously shushed, so she and Rhys sort of just stand around until the lightbulb finally goes off and he snaps his fingers in triumph.

“The Eridium shipments,” he declares, appearing to be rather pleased with himself. “Orcus sends them out on ships to Decima around the clock. It’s our main export and Fides would collapse financially without it. They’d never shut the shipments down, even in extreme cases like this, and those ships _have_ to have the kind of authorization we’d need to get past the shields.”

Wait, wait, wait. Hold on a second.

“You want to steal a spaceship?” Fiona clarifies incredulously. “Full of Eridium? Are you serious? Are you _insane_?”

“Yes, I want to steal a spaceship full of Eridium and yes, I am being very serious. And is that last question going to be one you two are going to keep asking me? Because I could have sworn we already got that all squared away back at the hotel.”

“But... wouldn’t that mean leaving the planet?” Rhys cuts in, crossing his arms. “I thought you were only trying to get out of Fides. Not play a game of hopscotch across the solar system.”

“At this point, we don’t have much of an option,” Ezra says with a shrug. “Besides, Orcus presence on Decima is minimal. Even more so than it is here. We will probably be safer there, in the long run. Even if it does mean starting over.”

Fiona regards Ezra skeptically. “You mean to tell me that the amount of jackasses in body armor running around here is _minimal_ compared to other places? These guys are everywhere. I don’t think I’ve gone outside once without seeing at least one on every street corner.”

Ezra shrugs again, this time with one shoulder. “This star system has been well under Orcus jurisdiction for decades, almost since The Big Bad. Most of their forces are off on the front lines searching for more Eridium-rich planets and seizing control where they can. It’s not necessary to station a lot of troops here, since none of the resistance movements that pop up ever gain enough traction to push back very hard. Normally because of incidents like this one.”

He looks a little solemn for a moment before he shakes it off with a sigh. “At any rate, I doubt passenger shuttles to Decima will continue to operate for the foreseeable future. You’re welcome to come with us, if you choose to. I can’t promise it will be easy, or that we won’t immediately be shot down and killed as soon as we get off the ground, but the invitation is open.”

She and Rhys exchange another look. While getting off-world has always been the plan, she never imagined it would involve stealing a spaceship from some autocratic organization that’s just teeming with assholes who would do anything to keep themselves in power. Including, apparently, trapping an entire city in their claws so they can pick through its populace at their leisure for anybody who might pose a threat to their reign.

Fiona glances up at the sky again. All of the flaming dust is gone, the sky having returned to relative normalcy. Except for this faint, hexagonal pattern she can only see when she tilts her head the right way. A dome, she realizes after a moment, likely big enough to cover the whole city from border to border. It doesn’t look solid- more like it’s made out of some kind of permeable light energy than any real physical material- but she doesn’t especially want to know what would happen if someone tried to pass through it without the authorization Ezra’s been talking about. Probably disintegrate, she guesses anyway, or something equally horrifying. Not like she hasn’t seen it happen before.

It occurs to her then that she and Rhys are never going to get out of this place if they don’t go with Ezra. Sure, they could try to wait it out until Orcus or whoever takes the shields down, but who knows how long that could be? The chances of being found out in the meantime are much higher than she’s comfortable with, and even if they weren’t, she’s not sure she’d be willing to take the chance. The minute someone realizes she and Rhys aren’t who these stupid chips in their arms say they are, it’s all over. This crazy, over-the-top scheme of hotwiring a spaceship and hightailing it off-world might just be their best shot at getting home in one piece. Or, at least, as close to one piece as they can get.

Sighing in resignation, Fiona rubs at her eyes and stifles a yawn. “Okay. Fine. Let’s go get our friends and steal a spaceship, I guess.”

Rhys doesn’t seem to be overly shocked by her decision, no doubt already having come to a similar conclusion she just did. He nods in concurrence, which makes Ezra let out a small sigh of relief, like he didn’t really expect them to agree to this batshit insane plan.

Quite frankly, she didn’t really expect she’d be agreeing to it either. But c’est la vie, or whatever.

To make matters more complicated, Ezra insists on securing their means of escape himself while she and Rhys take care of locating and extracting Flick and Isabel and whoever else had the misfortune of getting captured. Which is probably the smarter route to take and more efficient by a long shot, since she’s guessing they’re only going to have a very small window to get everybody out before someone notices that they’re gone. That doesn’t mean she’s particularly thrilled by the idea of being on their own except for limited radio communication- especially considering their minimal knowledge of this place and how these Orcus guys even operate- but they’re just going to have to make do with what they’ve got. Fake it ‘til they make it, and all that.

Before Ezra hops back into the car to go back home and get his _stuff_ \- she’s not really sure what _stuff_ he’s talking about, and the way he says it doesn’t especially make her want to ask- he gives both her and Rhys what look like standard-issue pistols, clearly manufactured by Orcus if the logos slapped all over them are anything to go by. Regular magazine size, no mods, nothing flashy. Although they do hold cells instead of normal bullets. Rhys is obviously uneasy even touching the damn thing but slides it into the belt holster Ezra points out without comment. Then, after quickly glossing over the directions of how to get to the underground floors and the security tower, respectively, Ezra bids them farewell for now. She and Rhys watch the taillights of his SUV disappear down the road before turning to start making their way towards the gigantic building a few blocks ahead, walking silently side by side as they prepare themselves for what’s to come.

They step into an alley a safe distance away from the front of the headquarters so they can take a look at what they’re working with before they just blindly wander in. There’s a main square directly across the boulevard separating them from the campus, a large but simple fountain built right in the center of it and more people than she can count crowding the space and running on about their business. The main structure is just beyond the square and it’s _huge_ , separated into two individual towers at ground level but eventually bridging together farther up top. Fiona has to tilt her head back uncomfortably far to even notice that, and as a result, she also sees that the side of the building is embellished with a massive, lit-up sign in the shape of that stupid, incomplete triangle logo. The color of it slowly shifts from blue to green to yellow and then back again, bright enough to stand out even despite the soft rays of the sunrise painting the entire structure various shades of pinks and reds.

Fiona quickly locates what must be the front entrance by all the people filing in and out of it, some of them wearing the same armored uniforms as her and Rhys, others in simple high-necked coats like the guards at the border, and still others dressed in civilian clothes. The first step is getting through those doors, which should be simple enough. After that, they go their separate ways; Fiona to start heading down towards the underground levels, and Rhys up to the security tower to work behind the scenes. She’s going to have to find some way to stall so he has enough time to patch her into the database and do something about the cameras, but that shouldn’t be too hard. Bullshitting for time is, like, one of the things she’s best at.

She continues working through the plan step-by-step in her head, making mental notes of solutions to potential problems that could arise and searching the environment for anything they might be able to use to their advantage. She’s right in the middle of trying to estimate just how many floors this building even has and wondering if any of the windows are breakable when Rhys suddenly clears his throat beside her.

“Fi,” he says her name with this weighty note to it, which is unusual enough that she puts her calculations on pause and turns around to face him. He looks... troubled. Which isn’t all that out of the ordinary, especially considering what they’re about to do. But he won’t meet her eyes, and that’s almost always a telltale sign that something is seriously wrong.

“You okay?” she asks, not bothering to hide the concern in her voice.

“What? No. I mean- Yeah. I’m fine.” He still isn’t looking at her. He just crosses his arms and traces a finger along the lines of grout between the bricks on the wall beside them. “It’s just- What we’re about to do seems, uh. Really dangerous. And I know,” he rushes to add on before she can open her mouth to console him, “I know that we’ve been through a lot of really dangerous things already but- I just-”

He falters again, the words escaping him. Fiona hesitates before stepping closer and letting her hand come to rest on his arm.

“You know,” she starts teasingly, “this usually happens the other way around.”

He snorts half-heartedly. “Yeah. Usually.”

“Like, I’m the one that’s all, ‘Someone will die!’ and you’re always all, ‘Of fun!’ and I’m not really sure what to do now that we’re breaking out of that dynamic? Should I tell you it’ll be fine? That everything’s going to work out great and we’ll all be skipping off happily into the sunset by the time this is over? Or- Oh my god, Rhys.” She claps her hands down on his shoulders, leveling him with the most deathly serious stare she can muster. “Do you need a hug.”

That actually makes him genuinely laugh, and she always forgets how much she loves that sound until it’s making her feel all warm and happy and full again. “I... guess a hug wouldn’t hurt.”

Well. It was mostly a joke, but what is she going to do, tell him _no_? Yeah, right. Fiona wastes no time tugging Rhys closer so she can wrap her arms around his middle and quickly find that spot in the space between his neck and his shoulder where her head fits perfectly. He responds in kind, hands sliding over her waist and holding her flush against him like his life depends on it. It’s one of those hugs that she never wants to step out of, something meaningful hanging in the air between them and squeezing each other so tight that it’s a little hard to breathe. But it also feels a little desperate, a little sad, and she can’t help but have the fleeting thought that this could be the last time they ever get to do this.

Just as quickly as that notion comes, she forces it right back out again. No. She won’t believe that. They’ve come this far already, and like hell is she going to just give up before they’ve even really tried.

“I don’t want to lose you, Fi,” Rhys murmurs right next to her ear, and he sounds so deeply frightened that he _will_ that her heart wrenches around painfully in her chest. “Not after... Not after everything else. I just- I can’t. I can’t lose you too.”

She buries her face in his shoulder and clutches him closer, as tightly as she can. And then, when she’s sure her voice won’t waver, she draws back to raise her hands up, sliding her fingers along his jaw to cradle his face between her palms.

“This isn’t the last time we’re going to see each other,” she tells him quietly. “Nobody’s losing anybody. Not while I have something to do with it.”

And yet, even as she’s saying that, she’s trying to commit everything about this moment to memory. The weight of his hands clasped together behind her back. The way he’s looking at her, eyes all brown and gold and hopeful but still so petrified at the same time. Because she doesn’t know anything for sure. Neither one of them do. And they can trade soft words and reassurances but at the end of the day, all they can do is try to have faith. Faith that they’re going to live to see tomorrow. Faith that they can make it to the other side of this together, just like they always have.

Faith that they can even get this half-assed plan to work in the first place because honestly, if anything about this mission is doomed to fail, it’s definitely going to be that. Not because of any incompetency on her or Rhys’ part.

Rhys lets out a slow breath after a minute, leaning down and giving her a veeery gentle kiss on her forehead.

“Just... please don’t die,” he mumbles against her skin before retreating enough to brush her bangs out of her face. “Or try your best. Not to, I mean. Um.” He huffs out a small laugh, shaking his head at himself. “This- This all sounded a lot better in my head.”

Fiona rubs her thumbs across his cheekbones affectionately, which makes him smile. A little hesitantly, maybe, but still sincere and earnest. And for once, she’s not thinking about what he said outside the Vault. She’s not thinking about that or about whether he feels just as guilty as she does or even about how selfish it is to let this warm, foolish hope unfurl its roots beneath her breastbone. Because none of it matters, not right now, not in this moment. Not when he’s watching her with something so achingly soft and familiar in his eyes and there’s no way- _no way_ \- anyone could ever look at someone like that and it not be deeply, painfully, indisputably real.

And maybe she’s being presumptuous. Maybe she’s just being stupid. But before she can stop herself- before she even really knows what she’s _doing_ \- she’s standing up on her toes, closing what little distance is left between them and pressing her lips against his.

Neither one of them is expecting it, so it’s... clumsy. And a little awkward, at first. They’re like two puzzle pieces trying to find how they’re supposed to fit together when they’re both all jagged corners and torn edges. But before they can even start to figure it out, a _crash_ followed by a bunch of shouting comes from across the street, startling them both so badly that they jump away in an attempt to put as much distance between them as they can without outright bolting in opposite directions.

They sort of just... stand there and stare at each other for a minute, mute and wide-eyed. Fiona is the first to snap out of it and that’s because her whole face feels like it’s on _fire_ , and she takes a half step forward to go for a good-natured pat on the shoulder before she weenies out at the last second and just gives him a thumbs-up instead.

“Right. Don’t die. Got it. You too.” She slooowly starts inching backwards out of the alley as Rhys attempts to come to his senses.

“Uh,” he says eloquently, blinking a few times. “That’s... You... I don’t...”

She finger guns at him. “Goodluckseeyoulaterbye.”

To say that she literally sprints away around the corner would be the understatement of the century.

What.

The actual hell.

Did she just do.

She kissed him. She _kissed_ him. And unless she’s gone completely off the deep end- which, frankly, she probably shouldn’t consider as being totally impossible just yet- she’s pretty damn sure he kissed her back. Before they were, uh, interrupted. So. She didn’t just kiss him. He kissed her. They kissed each other. On the mouth. Romantically, she thinks. The context was pretty romantic, right? Even if they were in some gross side alley that smelled so bad she can still sort of detect the faint stench of rotting garbage lingering in her nostrils.

What. The. _Fuuuck_.

She’s freaking out so hard that she very nearly walks right into traffic without even noticing. She stops herself just in time, teetering on the edge of the curb and wobbling to maintain her balance as more of those white Orcus SUVs whiz past like they weren’t even going to stop. Shit. Okay. She needs to focus. _Focus_. At least enough so she doesn’t ruin everything and get herself run over like a dumbass. She can deal with the consequences of all of this later. Because Rhys might have let that whole thing on the rooftop go, but there’s no way in hell she’s going to be able to weasel out of this one without a long and painfully awkward conversation about what that kiss meant.

...On second thought, maybe getting run over isn’t such a bad idea after all.

No. Stupid. Stupid thought. She can’t do that. Their friends need help. You know, the ones that have been captured and are probably being tortured to death while she’s just standing here like an idiot? Yeah, those ones. So. Game face. Before their maimed friends become their dead friends.

Fiona slaps at the little clasp behind her ear until the helmet activates, the plating digistructing to encase her whole head comfortably. What she doesn’t expect is for a little triangle logo to appear in front of her eyes, blinking a few times while a loading bar beneath it fills all the way up and then disappears only to be replaced with a full fledged interface.

“ _Hey! You’re online. Are you two heading in now?_ ” Ezra’s voice sounds right in her ear while she tries to make sense of what the hell she’s even supposed to be looking at.

“This is so weird,” she grumbles mostly to herself. The interface doesn’t obscure her vision that much, the layout relatively clean and simple, but it does seem to be scanning every object and person in the vicinity. Providing stats and data, like the exact distance something is from her, or... the current blood pressure of the target? What the hell? Ugh, this is what she meant when she said she didn’t want to know how invasive this stuff had gotten. This is so disturbingly violating.

“ _Right, sorry. I forgot to mention the helm display. It can take some getting used to, but it may be helpful for finding your way around. Just remember that all the other Protectorates have it too._ ”

Wonderful. Just what she wanted to hear. Fiona gives herself another minute to acclimate to all the shit popping up all over the place before she feels confident enough to start making her way towards the building. She’s about halfway across the street when her helmet lets out a chime and informs her that, “ _Staff Sergeant S. Kyle has joined the private network._ ” Whoever that is.

“ _Ohhh, this is weird,_ ” Rhys’ voice comes across the line after a second. Oh. Yeah. It’s Rhys. That makes sense. Probably should have guessed that.

Ezra gives him the same explanation he gave her, although Rhys has a few questions in return that she doesn’t really care about the answers to so she kind of just tunes them out. She keeps heading towards the front entrance, picking her way across the crowded square and trying not to look too out of place. But if she does, she doubts anyone is paying enough attention to notice. Like Ezra said in the car, they’re all too busy with their own business to worry too much about her.

The radio goes quiet for a few moments after Rhys and Ezra are done talking about whatever they were talking about, but then Rhys goes, “ _Hey, uh, Fi?_ ”

Fiona almost trips over her own feet but keeps walking, hoping nobody saw that. “Yeah?”

“ _Are we, um. Are we going to... talk about what just happened or...?_ ”

Dammit. Shit. She spots a group of guards just hanging around out front near the doors having a smoke break, so she wanders over to lean against the wall and blend in while her mind races a mile a minute. This is _so_ not the time and he should know that, goddammit. But then, it’s probably her fault for kissing him in the first place, now isn’t it? Why did she have to do that? What was she even thinking?

Trick question. She obviously wasn’t. At all. Not even a little bit.

God. This is dumb. This is just... stupid. It’s so stupid and so is she. Ignoring him is tempting, but even she can admit that would be pretty mean, so she clears her throat a couple times until she can finally manage a weak, “Maaaybe laterrr?”

She winds up drawing that out for way longer than she really needs to, so it sounds about a thousand percent weirder than it would have normally. She really wishes she wasn’t wearing this stupid helmet right now so she could just... slap herself across the face. Or put her head through a wall. Repeatedly.

The line is just pure static for a minute until Rhys blows out a heavy breath. “ _Right. Later._ ”

The feed goes completely silent again. Fiona is still mentally screaming into the abyss when Ezra suddenly says, “ _Wow. That was the most awkward exchange I’ve ever read. Consider me interested._ ”

“Don’t be,” Fiona mutters as she pushes herself off the wall to start moving around back towards the entrance.

“ _Too late. I already am. What happened? It’s only been five minutes since I left. Did you have a fight? Confess your love for one another in the heat of the moment?_ ” He gasps all fake dramatically. “ _Did you two kiss?_ ”

It takes everything in her power not to stomp petulantly as she’s walking along. It’s like talking to Flick but somehow worse. Which is saying a lot. “Do you ever shut up?”

“ _Not very often, no. So, wait, it was the kiss, right? I bet it was the kiss. With the way you two look at each other-_ ”

“ _I’m sorry,_ ” Rhys interrupts, voice a little higher than normal. “ _But I sort of got the impression this was a- a serious mission? Time sensitive, even? Are we- Is this really the best use of our time right now?_ ”

“ _Probably not,_ ” Ezra admits. “ _You’re right. You can fill me in later, then._ ”

“ _Or never,_ ” Rhys suggests. “ _Never is good._ ”

“I’m fine with never,” Fiona agrees.

Thankfully, Ezra lets it go as Fiona moves into the main antechamber of the building. She has to force herself to keep walking and not just stop and gawk in awe. The entire atrium is one huge circle open to all the floors above, built around a central pillar in the middle of the room that appears to house the elevators. Elevated walkways made entirely out of glass lead from the column to wide skywalks that cross and coincide overhead in the pattern of, big surprise, a staggered triangle. And, as always, everything is pure, crystalline white in color. Or, at least, everything that isn’t made out of glass, that is. So basically the floor, because the interior walls all the way up to the skylights so far above are completely translucent, giving the appearance of the building being much larger than it already actually is.

“ _It will take longer for you to get down to the lower levels than it should take for Rhys to find the security tower,_ ” Ezra addresses her over the comms as she sort of meanders her way over towards the elevators. “ _But you will want to make sure you’re patched in by the time you get down there. If the scanner doesn’t recognize you, you will be shot on sight._ ”

“Sounds like fun,” she sighs, taking a quick look around like she might be able to pick Rhys apart from the crowd. “Rhys, where are you right now?”

“ _Already on my way up,_ ” he responds.

Oh. What? How did he somehow get in here before her? Maybe he passed her when she was loitering around outside trying to suppress the urge to throw herself off the nearest cliff? Yeah, that’s probably it.

Fiona stands around with all the other people waiting for the elevator, listening in on snippets of conversation for anything interesting. Nothing really stands out though, and she squeezes in along with everybody else once the doors finally slide open. After making sure someone already hit the button for the thirty-fourth floor, she makes herself comfortable in one of the corners closest to the exit. She kind of expected these guys to be all stern and menacing- and really, the uniforms don’t do much to help with that assumption- but they all just seem so... normal. Nudging each other playfully and joking amongst themselves on the long ride up. She supposes not everyone who works for a heartless corporation that profits off of other people’s misery is actually so heartless themselves. A lesson that apparently didn’t stick all that well when she learned it the first time.

“Hey,” one of the other soldiers suddenly turns to address Fiona, swatting at the guys she was talking to until they quiet down. “Wayne, right?”

“Uh.” Fiona has to think about it for a second because it’s not like she can just look down at her own name tag to make sure. “That’s me.”

That must be the right answer, because the soldier moves to face her all the way before cocking her head to the side questioningly. “We’ve got a pool going for which one of those poor bastards down in the ADMAX is going to crack first. You want in?”

Poor bastards? Down in the ADMAX?

Is she supposed to know what the hell that even means?

Just as Fiona thinks that, a lightbulb goes off. The soldier must be talking about all the people they’ve taken hostage. The entire reason she and Rhys are even here. And these guys are taking bets on which one of them is going to cough up the information they’re looking for first? Really?

She guesses she spoke too goddamn soon about the whole not being heartless thing.

Fiona tries to hide her distaste by crossing her arms and leaning her hip up against the glass wall of the elevator. Maybe she can use this unfortunate encounter to her advantage. “Any idea who’s still in the running?”

“The old lady kicked the bucket about half an hour ago. I think that rat-faced kid from Upper East Concord did too. And pretty much everyone they picked up at the power station. Damn waste of time, trying to get anything outta them. Just a bunch of rookies. Didn’t know anything.”

Again, not a lot of that means anything to her, but at the mention of the power station, her heart sinks in her chest. That’s where Flick was, wasn’t it? Before the blackout? Ezra said that they and some others were trying to shut down the grid to prevent the shields from going up. If these assholes got a hold of them and have already killed them all, then...

“But,” the soldier resumes before Fiona can continue along that extremely depressing train of thought, “I think the junkie’s still kicking. Hell of a fighter, from what I heard. They’ve been going at it for hours and she hasn’t made a peep. Only reason they haven’t just iced her yet is because she’s one of those intakers. So she’s gotta have something we can use, y’know?”

An intaker. That could be Isabel, couldn’t it? There’s no way to be sure, but at this point, she’ll cling to whatever small shred of hope she can get.

The soldier drums her fingers on her legplate in thought. “Aaand that pint-sized twerp they found passed out in the garbage a couple blocks away from here hasn’t ate it yet either, I don’t think. The patrol that found them thought they were just a bar fly that had a little too much fun at happy hour, but their chip came back as having been tampered with. Dunno why the interrogators are wasting their time with that one. Probably just another drifter with a record trying to get off-world.”

Fiona has to physically stop herself from heaving a sigh of relief. That _has_ to be Flick. The pint-sized comment, the whole thing about finding them knocked out in the trash... Yeah. That’s their kid. They must have made it away from the power station somehow only to get picked up somewhere else. Unlucky, but now that she knows they’re here, she’s going to do everything in her power to get them and anyone else who might still be alive down there the hell out of Dodge. Failure wasn’t ever an option in the first place, but now she’s, like, extra committed.

“So!” the soldier speaks up again after a moment, letting her hand come to rest on her hip. “The pot’s getting pretty big, if you wanna take your chances. Who knows? Could be your lucky day.”

The elevator lets out a soft _ding_ and Fiona looks up to see they’ve reached her floor.

“Sorry,” she says as the doors slide open and she takes a step out. “I don’t make bets unless I know the outcome.”

What she neglects to mention is that she already knows the outcome. And she doesn’t usually make a habit out of betting against herself.

Making her way from the elevator and out onto the skywalk is an... experience, to say the least. The entire thing is made of crystal clear glass, even the floor, so all the levels below are perfectly visible underneath her feet. She doesn’t have as big a thing with heights as Rhys seems to, but it’s still a little daunting, so she makes it a point to keep staring straight ahead as she traverses the bridge over to the wing of the building she’s pretty sure houses the special lifts that’ll take her down to the underground facility.

Actually _finding_ those special lifts is a lot easier said than done, however. They must be tucked into a secret passage somewhere, or maybe she’s just completely missing them, which is definitely possible. All these damn hallways look the same. Rhys eventually comes back over the radio to inform her that he’s made it to the security tower, which is all well and fine, but they can’t actually commence the plan until she gets to where she needs to be too. A feat that’s turning out to be way trickier than it ought to be. After a while, she starts to wonder if anyone’s noticed she’s just walking around in circles or if they’re all too busy and important to recognize the clearly out of place infiltrator among them.

“ _Hey, Fi? Try taking the next right,_ ” Rhys tells her suddenly. “ _Then follow that hall all the way down. I think the elevator you need to take will be on the left._ ”

Okay. That’s... helpful. Weird, but appreciated. Fiona takes a quick glance around but can’t spot any cameras from where she’s standing. “Can you see me right now?”

“ _Yeah. Thirty-fourth floor, C-Wing, Sector-06, right?_ ”

“...Yeah,” she says slowly as she takes the right Rhys told her to. “How did you know that? I mean, everybody in here is dressed up like the White Ranger. How’d you know which one was me?”

“ _Uh, I don’t know. I guess I’ve spent enough time around you and... you know... watching the way you walk around... and stuff..._ ”

It’s really too bad that he can’t see her face right now, because she raises her eyebrows suuuper high. “Wow. You might want to stop right there before you back yourself even further into the creepy stalker corner.”

It sounds like he chokes on his own spit. “ _I’m not- It’s not creepy, okay? Look, if you want the truth, it’s because you’re the only one wandering around aimlessly like a dumbass. All hopelessly lost and too stubborn to ask for directions. It’s a dead giveaway._ ”

Fiona nods sarcastically, hoping he catches it on the cameras. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

“ _Seriously. It is._ ”

“I believe you,” she says in that specific voice she only uses when she doesn’t believe him at all.

He lets out this long, drawn-out sigh that turns into a frustrated groan at the end. “ _Okay, fine. I scanned everyone on the feeds until I found you. Happy now?_ ”

Oh, he _what_? She has to force herself to keep moving and not stop and glare murderously into the middle distance. “Please tell me you’re joking. You know how I feel about that crap.”

“ _What else was I supposed to do? We’re already short on time and it was the quickest way. But don’t worry, I didn’t look at all the stuff about your elevated levels of oxytocin or your high heart rate or anything like that. Even though I really wanted to._ ”

“Stop!” she exclaims into her radio, almost crashing into a group of people headed the opposite way she is. “Stop doing that! Stop invading my body!”

“ _Invading your- Invading your body? Are you- That’s not- I don’t even-_ ”

“Oh, does thinking about it like that make you uncomfortable?” she coos all fake sympathetically as she reaches the end of the hall and spots the elevators she’s been looking for right where Rhys said they would be. “Imagine how I feel, you jerk.”

“ _I mean, it’s not- that’s not really accurate, first of all, and second of all, this all happened, like, thirty seconds ago. So it’s waaay too late to be worrying about that. Consider your body already invaded._ ”

She makes this noise in the back of her throat that in no way even remotely encompasses just how exasperated she is right now. “Gross! God, Rhys! Don’t say it like that!”

“ _Like what? You said it first._ ”

Huffing and trying to ignore how hot her face suddenly is, Fiona presses the call button and settles in to wait. “Just... shut up and focus on the job, will you?”

“ _I mean, that’s what I was trying to do anyway, but yeah, whatever,_ ” he sighs. “ _You’re welcome for the directions, by the way._ ”

She’s too miffed to thank him properly so she just glowers at the inside of her helmet and pretends he can see it until the elevator arrives. There’s no one else around so she steps inside alone after the doors slide open, looking for the panel underneath all the upper floor buttons and pushing at it until it depresses into the wall slightly like Ezra said it would when he was very quickly talking her through all this. It falls open to reveal even more rows of buttons that she assumes all correspond to the various different levels of the underground facility. She locates the one labeled B-13 and hits it, stepping back as the doors shut and the elevator begins its descent.

“I’m on my way down now,” Fiona says into her radio. “You still have eyes on me?”

“ _Yeah,_ ” Rhys responds somewhat absently before repeating himself a little louder, “ _Yeah, I do. I’m trying to update your underground access permissions but there’s something... weird going on with their system. It’s not processing the request fast enough so it just keeps timing out._ ”

“I don’t know what any of that means,” she tells him flatly. “In English, please?”

“ _It means you’re not going to be able to get past ADMAX security unless he can circumvent the server priority to get you on the registry in time,_ ” Ezra pipes up before Rhys can explain. Which really doesn’t make that much more sense, but at least the first part of what he said gives her a general idea of what’s wrong.

“Can you do that, Rhys?” Fiona asks.

“ _Uh, I don’t know? Probably? It’s just- I’m still not really used to how this stuff works and it might take a little time._ ”

“How much time are you going to need?”

“ _No more than a few minutes, tops._ ”

“ _You have ninety seconds,_ ” Ezra informs him. “ _Approximately. The elevator ride from the thirty-fourth floor to the basement levels takes about a minute, and it’s not a long walk to the ADMAX entrance from there._ ”

“ _Oh,_ ” Rhys says, and then he laughs nervously. “ _Great. Awesome. Cool. Yeah. That’s fantastic. Glad to hear it._ ”

“Hey, you’re not allowed to freak out, alright?” Fiona says, hoping the edge in her voice isn’t as noticeable to anyone else as it is to her. “It’s my life on the line here, not yours.”

“ _Oh my god, do you- do you honestly think that’s helpful? Being reminded that I’m fully in control of whether or not you get shot to death in the next minute or so when I am already well aware of that? Seriously? What part of this situation is not specifically designed to stress me out? I want to know. Go ahead, Fiona. Tell me._ ”

She brings up a hand to rub at her eyes before remembering she can’t even touch her own damn face right now. “I can feel your blood pressure spiking through the mic.”

“ _I can’t help it!_ ” he snaps back all snarkily. “ _I have a genetic predisposition!_ ”

“ _I think most people just call it anxiety,_ ” Ezra remarks. “ _Have you ever tried mindful breathing exercises?_ ”

“ _Yeah, actually, I have. And guess what? They! Don’t! Work for me!_ ”

Ezra makes a thoughtful noise at that. “ _I mean, Issa swears by them, so. You’re probably just doing it wrong._ ”

“Okay!” Fiona interrupts as she watches the number above the door indicating which floor she’s on tick down slowly. “Can we all just... take it down a couple notches? Maybe? Is that a thing we can do right now?”

Ezra hums something that sounds like an affirmative. Rhys just sighs deeply and doesn’t say anything else. The rest of the ride is silent save for the sound of her own heartbeat thudding in her ears, which on one hand, is a good thing, because that means Rhys is hard at work hacking into the mainframe or whatever, and Ezra is... well, she’s actually not sure what Ezra is doing. But she’s sure he’s doing his best, and that’s what matters.

On the other hand, the sudden lapse in radio communication doesn’t do much to help with the cold dread creeping up her spine like a ghost. She trusts Rhys’ judgement of his own abilities, so if he says he can do it, then she believes him. Underestimating him in the past has only ever turned out to be a mistake. But she still can’t help but feel a little worried about cutting it this close. Or a lot worried. Getting shot in the face doesn’t sound particularly pleasant, especially considering she happens to be rather attached to it. It’s the only face she’s got, at any rate, and she’d much rather it stay exactly where it is.

By the time the elevator reaches her floor and the doors slide open, she’s worked herself up into a nice, jittery simmer. Rhys hasn’t updated her on what’s going on, but she can’t exactly stand here all day like a coward, so she takes a wary step out into the corridor. And another. And then another. Setting a pace that’s not slow but _leisurely_ , forcing herself to relax her posture into something that doesn’t radiate quite as much fear and apprehensiveness as she gradually approaches the heavy, sealed door at the other end of the hall.

There’s no one else except for her and a lone guard standing next to the entrance that has a very helpful sign above it reading _ADMINISTRATIVE MAXIMUM HOLDING_ in bold, black letters. There’s this... machine right before it; a wide strip of spotless steel metal protruding just an inch or so from where it’s been built into the floor, walls, and ceiling. The scanner, if she had to take a guess. And she’s going to have to walk through it, whether Rhys has managed to get her into the system yet or not.

The guard inclines his head as Fiona sluggishly walks over. “Sergeant.”

Uh. Shit. Fiona glances down at the insignias on his chest plate that probably indicate whatever rank he is, but she has no idea what they mean and her stupid helm display isn’t readily providing that information. So she takes a gamble and nods politely back, swallowing hard. “Sir.”

That must be acceptable, because he doesn’t say anything else. Fiona takes a deep breath in and slowly lets it back out as she continues on towards the scanner. Okay. Showtime. It’s now or never.

“Come on, Rhys,” she whispers so quietly that she doubts her radio mic even picks it up, pausing briefly at the threshold of the machine before taking that last step over the edge.

It immediately makes this low buzzer sound that has never meant anything good in the history of forever.

Fiona freezes right in her tracks.

Shit. Dammit. _Shit_.

The guard behind her sighs. “Come back here for a sec, would you?”

She doesn’t move for a moment, paralyzed by panic and shock, but manages to break its hold enough to shuffle backwards a couple steps. She’s dead. She’s so, so dead. All this work just to get this far and for nothing. They got beat by a gigantic cookie cutter. Because Rhys wasn’t fast enough. Because she didn’t walk slow enough.

Because a bunch of dicks in Power Ranger suits don’t know how to optimize their goddamn wifi.

She stops when she’s next to the guard, watching him in the corner of her eye. Maybe she could take him. He’s not that much taller than she is, but he is a lot stockier, so he’s not the most favorable opponent she would have chosen. Still, she sure as hell isn’t going down without a fight. She stands motionless as he just considers her briefly- probably scanning her, she realizes belatedly- and waits for an opportunity to strike.

Much to her surprise, however, the guard doesn’t draw his weapon. Or even turn hostile whatsoever. He turns from her to go kick at the part of the scanner built into the floor, stomping on it a few times before returning to his post and motioning for her to... go through it again?

“Go on ahead, Sergeant,” he says when she doesn’t budge. “Sorry for the scare. I found you in the system so you’re all good to go. That damned thing has been acting up all week. Maintenance won’t get their asses down here to fix it because it’s not technically broken, but what’s the point of having it if it doesn’t even work half the time?”

The guard shakes his head. Fiona tries not to collapse on the floor from the sudden weight of her relief. She’s either the luckiest or unluckiest person on this side of the galaxy, just- to get thrown through a loop like that only to come out completely unscathed on the other side. Maybe it doesn’t even matter which because either way, she’s _alive_. She’s alive and she also doesn’t have to wrestle with some guy who could probably pick her up and throw her ass across the room like it’s nothing. Which, if she’s honest, might even be the more gratifying of the two.

The scanner’s alarm goes off again as she passes through it, but the guard just waves her on when she glances back. As she gets closer to the door, the locks release automatically, allowing it to fall open on its own and reveal another long hallway that branches off into two at the end.

“Sergeant?” the guard calls out before she can step through the doorway.

Fiona stops, cautiously looking back over her shoulder. “Yes, sir?”

“Give those traitors an extra kick in the teeth for me, if you don’t mind.”

Anger ignites in her throat, but she swallows it down until it burns deep in her gut instead. “Yes, sir.”

The door shuts with a _clang_ behind her, the sound of the locks engaging again echoing harshly off the tiled walls. There’s nowhere else to go but forward so that’s where she heads, and she’s contemplating which corridor to follow at the fork when the comms crackle to life again.

“ _Fi? Are you there? Did you- Did you get through?_ ”

Aw, he sounds so concerned! All breathless and worried for her wellbeing. It’s cute. “Don’t get your underwear all in a twist, Rhys, I’m fine. Other than some possibly permanent heart palpitations since the scanner malfunctioned and went off anyway before the guard let me through. I thought I was going to have to kick your ass from beyond the grave.”

Rhys lets out this tense laugh that turns into a sigh. “ _I’m, uh. I’m just glad to hear you’re okay. Alive, I mean. I was worried I was going to be too late._ ”

“Yeah, we probably could have timed that all better, huh?”

“ _Definitely. I just- Why didn’t you just get off on another floor and wait until I could get you into the system or something?_ ”

Fiona opens her mouth to respond with something witty and perhaps even clever, but promptly shuts it again after nothing winds up coming out. She repeats the process a few times until she eventually just says, “Because I didn’t think of that?”

“ _Well, it would have been really helpful,_ ” Rhys replies with a huff. “ _Just putting that out there. You know, for next time._ ”

Fiona frowns. “If you wanted me to do that, then why didn’t you just say something?”

The line is silent for a few seconds.

“ _...Because I didn’t think of it either. Until, uh, just now._ ”

She rolls her eyes super hard in hopes that he’ll be able to sense it by the sheer amount of energy it emanates alone. “Wow.”

“ _Oh, shut up. I’m under a lot of pressure, okay? I can’t be responsible for calling all the shots too. You need to start pulling your own weight around here, soldier. There’s no ‘I’ in ‘teamwork’._ ”

“But there is in ‘win’,” she points out before shaking her head. “Just tell me which way to go, Sergeant Smartass.”

“ _Right. About that. I’ve already set all the security footage for this floor on a three minute loop, so the cameras shouldn’t be a problem. But I don’t actually know which blocks are currently, uh, occupied. There’s only one angle for each hallway and every cell looks like it has some type of... hard light barrier, I think? Whatever they are, they’re completely solid. I can’t see through them. So you’re going to have to check them all yourself and tell me which ones I need to unlock._ ”

Well, that’s not very convenient, but it’s not undoable either. It might slow them down some, but Ezra hasn’t come back yet to bring them up to speed on the escape plan, so they’re not exactly hurting for time at the moment. Fiona decides to go right first, following the hall all the way down until it turns to the left again and she finds herself in another long, deserted corridor. There’s cells on both sides; each individual unit maybe ten feet wide across and shielded by an opaque barrier like Rhys said. Fiona steps over to the one nearest to her to investigate further and look around for clues.

One of the first things she discovers is that there’s a small panel built into the wall beside every cell. Upon closer inspection, she comes to the conclusion that they serve an informational purpose. The citizen identifier number, age, and current vitals of the cell’s occupant are all listed, along with some other data that she can’t make a whole lot of sense of. The one she’s looking at notes the prisoner’s age as being eleven years old, which is... shockingly young for being locked up in a place like this. But even more disturbing is the lack of a readable heartbeat, the line continuing on flat and lifeless as a pit opens up in her chest.

Oh. Oh, no.

A soft sigh escapes her, the ache spreading from head to toe. She goes to lean on the hard light barrier for support, just for a moment, just long enough to stifle down the sudden harrowing remorse she feels at not being able to get here sooner.

But laying her hand on that thing turns out to be the worst mistake she could have made.

The shield reacts to her touch, turning from solid to transparent in the blink of an eye and revealing the inside of the cell and the horrific scene that lies within. Red. _Red_. Everywhere she looks, red. The walls, the floor, even the ceiling. Streaked and splattered and smeared across every surface. It’s still fresh, wet and shiny under the too-bright fluorescent bulbs, dripping down between cracks in the tile and pooling in large, crimson puddles on the ground.

And the _body_... God, the body...

Small. So, so impossibly small. Bloodied. Beaten. _Broken_.

Fiona reels away so hard her back hits the wall opposite from the cell with a painful _thud_ , the barrier immediately turning solid white again. But it’s too late. The memory of that image, it’s already there, just- _seared_ into every nook and cranny of her brain. Burning like bile in her throat and scorching across the backs of her eyelids every time she blinks.

“ _Uh, Fi? What happened? Are you okay?_ ” Rhys comes over the comms, probably having seen her reaction on the security feed.

“They have _kids_ in here,” she forces herself to choke out, crossing her arms over her stomach and fisting her hands into the parts of her sleeves she can reach between the plates of her arm guards. “Children, Rhys. Young ones.”

“ _What are you- What? Shit. What cell is that? Let me see if I can-_ ”

She shakes her head. “No. It’s too late. That one- They already-”

She can’t even bear to say it, the words too heavy and bitter on her tongue. Rhys must understand what she’s trying to convey though, because he lets out a slow breath after a moment and asks again, softer than the first time, “ _Are you... going to be okay?_ ”

This is hardly the first time she’s ever seen something like this. Growing up on a planet like Pandora means witnessing a lot of gruesome tragedies firsthand. It was either learn how to deal with the trauma and heartache or get stuck dwelling on the past forever. She’s watched it happen, people falling to their own sense of loss and regret, and she’d always known she’d never be able to live with herself if it ever happened to her. So she chose to adapt. To move on. To roll with the punches. To never let it get beneath her skin.

But there’s a difference, she thinks, between a skin-and-bone corpse of some kid nobody cared about enough to feed lying face down in the gutter, and the twisted remains of a child beaten to death for information they probably didn’t even have. One is neglect, an obligation that everyone pretends isn’t theirs, and the other is intent, something cold and cruel and _wicked_ where fundamental morality is no longer present. And it’s different, she thinks, because while she’s seen so many instances of the first that she hardly even bats an eye at it anymore- that once white-hot grief long since turned to ash and embers- she can’t hold back the torrential downpour in her heart for the eleven year old kid in that cell.

Because that’s an undeniable wrong that can never be made right. And maybe it’s not their responsibility to do that in the first place, but she still feels like she’s drowning under the weight of it, like maybe there was something more they could have done. She has this sense, this- this chilling fear and gut feeling that if something like this has happened now, in an effort to flush out the rest of this movement against them, then how many times has Orcus done this before?

...And how many times are they going to do it _again_?

“ _Fiona?_ ” Rhys prompts her gently, reminding her that she still hasn’t answered his question.

“Yeah,” she says a little hoarsely. “I’ll be fine. I just... I just need a minute.”

He doesn’t say anything else. Which means he’s probably just watching in concern from wherever he is right now as she twists and untwists her fingers in the fabric of her undersuit until the ice in her veins starts to thaw. She’s not sure if his understanding silence makes her feel better or worse; she’s never liked not knowing what he’s thinking and that’s no different now. But she doesn’t ask- she’s just too afraid of the answer- and once she finally feels more like a human being than a glacier, she takes a deep breath and pushes off the wall she’d been leaning up against.

They still have a mission to complete. And the longer she just stands around moping about this, the higher the chances are of getting caught. So. Chin up. Time to find their friends and get out of here before they all suffer the same fate that poor kid did.

Fiona continues on down the hallway, checking every panel on each cell for any sign of a heartbeat. But they all look exactly the same as the first. Flat. Stagnant. Dead. She doesn’t look too closely at the other details on the screen and she definitely doesn’t touch any more barriers, figuring she’s had her fill of traumatizing experiences today and staying as detached as possible will help her keep her head. But it’s still hard not to feel disheartened as she nears the end of the corridor and there’s been no indication of life. Just unit after unit; no pulse, no pulse, no pulse.

She realizes with a start that this isn’t much like a prison at all. People aren’t just locked up here. This is where they’re beaten and tortured and killed.

She might as well be standing in the middle of some wackjob serial killer’s basement. Or a morgue.

Just as she starts thinking they got here too late, that there’s no one left for them to save, a spike of movement in her peripheral catches her eye. She turns cautiously to the last cell on the right, stepping closer to the panel and wondering if maybe she was just seeing things, but.

No. There it is again.

A heartbeat.

Someone’s alive in there.

Fiona slaps her hand on the barrier to turn it transparent.

Her heart plummets at the sight before her.

“Rhys,” she says slowly. “Open cell twelve. The last one on the right.”

“ _Did you- You found someone? Alive?_ ”

“Yeah.” She nods somewhat absently, eyes roaming across the blood-streaked floor to the small, hunched figure slumped heavily against the wall in the corner. “Flick.”

A beat passes, and then the barrier dissipates. Fiona steps over the threshold, being careful not to startle them. The kid is facing away from her, towards the back of the cell, knees pulled up to their chest and obviously bleeding from somewhere if the small, scarlet puddle collecting under the heel of their left boot is anything to go by. There’s blood pretty much everywhere, actually, but mostly on the floor, although there’s also some on the metal bed frame pushed to the opposite side of the room. There’s not even a mattress on that thing, which kind of suggests that it’s not really meant for sleeping. Flick doesn’t move as she slowly makes her way over- and it occurs to her that they might not even be conscious right now- so she walks around to crouch down next to them before gently laying a hand on their shoulder.

They react instantaneously, grabbing her wrist into a death grip and _wrenching_ it around so hard she can hear the bones crack. She bites back a shout, her back hitting the ground with enough force to drive all the breath right out of her lungs. She doesn’t even have time to suck in a gasp before the kid’s pressing their knee right into the center of her chest and leaning all of their surprisingly substantial weight down across her sternum. She can’t talk, she can barely even _breathe_ , and she violently thrashes underneath them in an attempt to get their dumb ass _off_ of her as they jab something curved and sharp dangerously close to her neck.

“Where is Issa?” they spit maliciously. She’s a little slow to respond because, well, they’re quite literally sitting on her and it _hurts_ , goddammit, so they press that pointy thing even deeper into the fabric of her collar. “Identifier 8NL-47TG9, where is she? I know you fuckers have her and if you don’t tell me where she is _right now_ , then I swear I’m going to-”

“ _Flick_ ,” Fiona finally manages to wheeze out, trying to wrestle her arm free so she can smack at the clasp behind her ear to deactivate her helmet. “It’s... _me_... you idiot...”

The sound of her voice makes them pause and draw back ever so slightly, which is enough for her to take a much needed breath and reach up to hit the clasp. As soon as the helmet is gone, they retreat all the way, sitting back on their heels and dropping whatever they were just trying to kill her with onto the ground. A piece of the bed frame, she thinks? But clearly ground down to a point for extra lethality.

Fiona struggles to sit herself up, still trying to catch her breath and rubbing at the center of her chest with a grimace. “God, you are... _so_ much heavier than you look.”

Flick pushes their very disheveled hair out of their face, revealing this really painful-looking bruise that’s just start to blossom along their jaw. “ _Fiona_?”

“The one and only,” she replies automatically before what they said really registers. When it finally does, she just about chokes on her own surprise.

Did they just.

Holy shit.

She doesn’t even get a chance to question it before the damn kid is pouncing on her again. She braces herself for impact, but rather than digging their painfully pointy knee into her sternum or trying to stab her in the neck with a shiv like she fully expects them to, they just... throw their arms around her. And bury their face against the side of her shoulder. Which can’t be all that comfortable because of the stupid body armor she’s wearing, but Flick doesn’t seem to mind one bit.

This... is a hug. They’re hugging her right now.

Just. What is even happening anymore.

“I, uh,” Fiona stammers, shaking off her shock enough to bring up her arm and tentatively pat them a few times on the back. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever called me by my real name, kid. I wasn’t sure you even knew what it was.”

They respond by squeezing her tighter. Okay then. Fair enough.

“What’s with the hugging?” she eventually wonders. “You didn’t actually think we’d let you die down here all alone, did you?”

Flick takes a shaky breath, sounding vaguely sniffly, but they still don’t have anything else to say. Which sort of gives her the impression that they did, in fact, think that. And that’s sad for an entirely different reason than all the other sad things she’s seen on the way in here. So she lets them cling to her for as long as they need to, at one point opening her mouth to mention the fact that they’re currently bleeding on her before realizing she cares more about the kid than keeping this stupid uniform from getting stained anyway.

And then, all of a sudden, they push her back roughly, like she’s the one that initiated that whole thing and they totally didn’t appreciate and/or need every single second of it. They duck their head and wipe furiously at their face with their sleeve, doing a less than mediocre job at covering up the handful of relieved tears that escaped from the corners of their eyes. Once they’re satisfied, they sit all the way back with an indignant huff, crossing their arms over their chest and leveling her with the meanest scowl they can muster.

“What are you doing here?” they demand icily, as if she doesn’t already know how happy they are to see her and she might just forget about that momentary lapse in their prickly demeanor if they act callous enough. “Did you even listen to anything I told you on the radio? I said lay low. This, just-” they gesture at the entirety of her, “-everything you’re doing right now- being _here_ \- it’s the exact opposite of laying low. Are you trying to screw up your only shot at getting off-world or are you just-”

“Stupid?” she finishes for them with a raised eyebrow, which makes them pout. They’re nothing if not predictable. “Look, after everything we heard happen, did you really expect us to sit on our asses and do nothing? You obviously needed help, and Ezra had more of a plan than we did, so-”

“Wait, wait, wait. _Ezra_?” Flick sighs all dramatic-like, bringing a hand up to rub at their forehead. “I should have guessed he was behind this. It has him written all over it. I bet he barely explained anything and just threw you guys to the wolves without even having a real escape strategy, right? And he waited until the last second to tell you he works for Orcus? Typical.”

Yeah, that seems to be a common trait he and Flick have. Withholding important information until they deem it convenient enough to share. “Actually, last I heard, we’re hijacking a spaceship and using it to get to Decima as soon as we get out of here. After we find Isabel. And assuming we can even make it out of this hellhole alive.”

Flick blinks at her a few times, evidently thrown off by what she just said. “Wait. We’re doing _what_?”

Fiona rolls her eyes as she stands up and holds her hand out for them to take. “Come on. I’ll explain it on the way.”

It’s a group effort to get Flick on their feet, as Fiona soon discovers the source of where they’ve been bleeding from. There’s a jagged tear in the kid’s left pant leg, exposing a pretty serious gash splitting adjacently across another large, faded scar over their kneecap. “Because my bad knee wasn’t bad enough already,” they assert bitterly, which is a little confusing. She never really noticed they had a bad knee in the first place, but whatever.

Either way, it makes walking a slightly more complicated process. She takes their arm over her shoulders to help support their weight as they slowly make their way back up the hallway. Rhys can probably see them on the cameras, but she reactivates her helmet anyway to let him know they’re going to check the rest of the cells in the next hall over.

Unfortunately, it seems to be the same old song and dance as it was in the first corridor, every panel by each unit showing a distinct lack of a heartbeat. Flick doesn’t say anything as they gradually work their way down, but their expression is arranged into something very deliberately impassive. They probably didn’t know any of these people very well- they only just arrived in the city the same time she and Rhys did- but still. They obviously worked with a few of them, even for a short time, and Fiona knows what it’s like to lose a teammate. And to multiply that by the amount of cells this place has...

Fiona squeezes their shoulder in a way that’s hopefully comforting. Flick doesn’t take their eyes off the panels, gaze sweeping left and right for any hints of life, but their posture eases ever so slightly that she might not have even noticed it if she wasn’t paying attention.

They’re about halfway down the hall, still no sign of Isabel or anyone else they can save, when Flick suddenly jerks their arm back so they can stagger over to cell number eighteen on the right. The monitor on that screen is active, which comes as both a surprise and a massive relief, but something about the line looks a little... off. A heartbeat for sure, but a slow and irregular one.

Why does she get a bad feeling about this.

Flick lays a hand on the barrier, but it doesn’t react to their touch the same way it did to Fiona’s. She wastes no time relaying the cell number over to Rhys so he can deactivate it, and once it’s down, she’s struck with the same sinking feeling in her gut that’s already taken her breath away twice tonight. Really, she shouldn’t have expected anything different.

“Issa,” Flick murmurs softly, seemingly frozen in place by the sight before them. Unlike all the other grisly scenes Fiona’s been treated with this heartache-filled evening, there’s no blood to be spoken of. But that doesn’t make it any easier to look at.

Isabel is sprawled out flat on her back on top of the plain metal bed frame identical to the one in Flick’s cell, strapped down painfully tight by her wrists and ankles. But Fiona doesn’t think she’d be able to move even if she wasn’t. She looks... dead, for lack of a better way to put it, all the color in her face completely gone and barely even responding when Flick finally breaks free of their paralysis and rushes over to shake her gently by the shoulder. There’s nothing actually visibly wrong with her, other than a few scrapes and bruises here and there, and an IV sticking out of the inside of her elbow that’s connected to a drip of some type of mystery fluid. Whatever that stuff is, Fiona gets the feeling it’s not making her any better. It might just be what’s making her _worse_.

“What are they doing to her?” Fiona can’t help but ask as she carefully drifts over to start unbuckling the cuffs around Isabel’s ankles.

Flick shakes their head, apparently not having a good answer for that. They grab the pouch the IV is connected to and rotate it around so they can squint at the words printed across the plastic. She can’t read it from here, but it obviously doesn’t say anything good because Flick’s eyes go wide and they release the bag abruptly in favor of yanking the needle in Isabel’s arm out with a rough hand.

“Issa.” The kid prods at her again after dropping the needle on the ground and kicking it to the side, patting her on the cheek and nudging her a little more insistently than before. “Issa, wake up. You have to wake up, okay? We need to get you out of here.”

She grunts in response, which is a slight improvement from before. Fiona finishes getting her feet unstrapped while Flick sets to work on the ones around her wrists. Once her hands are free, the kid starts pulling her up into a sitting position, which makes her let out this pained groan that turns into something that sounds like a sob at the end.

“I know,” Flick says soothingly, beckoning for Fiona to come over and help. “I know it hurts. I know. But you have to move. We’re going to get you out of here and- and you’ll feel a lot better, alright? I promise.”

Isabel shakes her head groggily, trying to wiggle out of her and Flick’s grasp. “No. _No_. Go away. I’m dying, I’m not- I’m not going to-” she takes a rattly breath and blows it back out, “Just go away. Leave me alone.”

Flick sighs, releasing her for a moment and nodding at Fiona to do the same so Isabel can slump back against the wall. “You’re not dying, stupid, it just feels like you are. You’ve been through this before, remember? Stop being dumb.”

“ _You’re_ being dumb,” Isabel sniffles, rubbing at her watery eyes and pitching to the side like she’s about to fall back over. “Just- Just go without me. Leave me here, I’ll only- I won’t be able to-”

Flick sighs and buries their face in their hands as Isabel trails off into something too unintelligible to make out. Fiona looks between the two of them a few times, not really knowing what she’s supposed to do. “Did they... Did they make her sick?”

The kid snorts humorlessly, shaking their head. “Something like that.”

That... doesn’t really answer her question very well. Which means they’re probably being vague on purpose and she shouldn’t push it. Fiona thinks she might have a slight idea of what’s happening, but it’s not really her place to be making assumptions, so for once, she keeps her mouth shut.

Flick just stands there for another minute, massaging their temples and appearing to be even more exhausted than Fiona feels. Eventually, they drop their hands with another heavy sigh, taking Isabel’s wrists again to continue pulling her up to her feet. Fiona pitches in, despite Isabel’s numerous and somewhat repetitive protests, but she seems to become less vocal once she’s up. Fiona and Flick maneuver her arms over their shoulders to support her from both sides as they start trying to lead her forward, but getting her to actually move her feet is another process altogether. They sort of have to half drag, half carry her out into the hallway, which is hard and physically arduous and would be way less of a nightmare if she wasn’t so goddamn tall. Why couldn’t she be, like, Flick-sized? Damn her and her good genes.

After a quick glance down at the rest of the cells to check if there’s anyone else in need of rescuing- and there’s not, much to Fiona’s muted disappointment and Flick’s silent dismay- they start heading back towards the direction they came from. It’s slow going, limping and stumbling all the way to just inside the ADMAX entrance, and after receiving confirmation from Rhys that the security feeds are still looping, she has Flick and Isabel wait farther back while she gets the guard still standing outside to unlock the door.

“That was quick,” he comments as she approaches him casually. “You get what the Captain was looking for?”

She pulls her gun on him so fast that he doesn’t even have time to react. A swift kick to his stomach sends him careening back against the wall, the sound of his head _smacking_ against the tile echoing noisily down the corridor. The impact only stuns him for a second, but a second is all she needs to fist her fingers in the fabric of his undersuit and _yank_ him down onto the ground. She takes the blunt end of her pistol to the back of his helmet before he can even start to get up, throwing enough force behind the blow to knock him out cold.

After calling out for Flick and Isabel to let them know it’s safe, she turns back to consider the guard’s unconscious body for a moment. And then she kicks him again, this time in the side of the head. Just for good measure.

“From the traitors,” she mutters, leaving him to have his involuntary nap to go help Flick get Isabel the rest of the way down the hall.

Once they’re in the elevator, however, Fiona hesitates. Crap. Where are they supposed to go from here? This was as far as the plan went. It’s not like they can go up to any old floor and waltz right out unless they want to wind up right back down here. Or worse.

“Hey, Rhys?” She drums her fingers on the railing as Isabel slouches heavily against the wall and Flick just focuses on keeping her mostly upright. “Any ideas on how we’re supposed to get out of here?”

“ _Not... really?_ ” he admits after a second. “ _From what I can tell, the Eridium shipment crafts are stored on a lot behind the main building. You’re going to have to go back up to the thirty-fourth floor and then get down to ground level again to make your way out there without being seen._ ”

Fiona glances over to where Flick is gently wiping at some dirt off of Isabel’s face. “You know as well as I do that that’s not going to happen.”

“ _I know, just- just hold on. Let me see if I can find you a safer route._ ”

The comms go silent for a minute while he does that. Fiona sighs, closing her eyes and resting her head back against the wall. This is insane. Like, she was fully aware of that fact going into this but really, this is just _insane_. Isabel can barely walk and Flick is only better off by a very small margin. They’re both too slow for Fiona to even have a hope at keeping them out of sight of the guards and patrols that are crawling all over this place. Even if Rhys does find them a more secure way to take, she still doesn’t have the slightest clue of just how in the hell they’re going to pull this off.

“Flick,” Isabel suddenly pipes up, making Fiona open her eyes again. She still looks woozy as she idly picks at the tattered canvas coat Flick is wearing, but she’s much more alert now than she was before. “Where did... Where did you get this?”

The kid shrugs, still trying to clean mud off her cheek. “I dug it out of a box in your closet.”

Isabel blinks absently. “Did the box have words on it?”

“Um, I don’t know. Maybe? I think so. B-something. Basket, or... basement. Something like that.”

“...Basura?”

Flick snaps their fingers. “Yeah. That’s it.”

Even in the state she’s in, Isabel still has the capacity to consider them with something soft and fond in her eyes. “That means trash, corazón. You’re wearing trash.”

The kid makes a pretty hilarious face at that. “Then why was it in your closet instead of being in the _trash_? And anyway, I think it’s fine. I like it. It looks good on me.”

“I can- I can assure you that it doesn’t.”

Flick sticks their tongue out at her as they continue squabbling in hushed voices. Fiona’s too tired to pay much attention, biting back a yawn as she checks the time on her helm display. Almost two in the morning, she notes with a hint of distaste. Maybe if she wasn’t so sleep deprived, she’d be able to come up with a genius escape plan on her own. But nooo, she has to wait around for Rhys to do it. Foiled again by her own circadian rhythm.

“ _Fi? You there?_ ” Rhys says out of the blue as she’s threatening to doze off even though she’s still standing up. He sounds a little breathless as a notification pops up in the corner of her helm interface.

“Still here,” she mumbles sleepily. God, she is going to take such a deep, lazy nap once all of this is over. “What’s up?”

“ _I found a better way out to the ship lot. I’m sending you the route now. I already started looping the footage for all the cameras along the way, but you have to hurry. The- The network, or whatever, notified security when you took out the guard, and they’re dispatching a team to investigate. You don’t have a lot of time._ ”

Oh, great. She should have figured something like that would happen what with how overly invasive and micromanaging this whole AION thing seems to be. Fiona does her best to shrug off her lingering drowsiness, hitting the button for the thirty-fourth floor and stepping back to let the elevator doors close. “Got it. We’re on our way. Are you going to meet us there?”

She opens the file Rhys sent her to take a look at the route he outlined on the 3D blueprint of the building while she waits for him to respond. The silence keeps stretching on though, and she’s just starting to get worried when he finally comes back and says, “ _Yeah, I’m- I’ll be there, don’t worry. Just-_ ”

The signal cuts out altogether before he can finish that sentence.

A beat passes. And then another.

It still doesn’t come back.

“Rhys?” she tries anyway, her heart skipping and stuttering and nearly stopping dead in her chest. “Rhys, are you- are you there?”

Nothing. Not even a crackle of static to give her hope.

It could just be a malfunction, she reasons to herself quickly before the panic can fully set in. A screw up with their helmets or with the radio network itself. That would make sense. If he was actually in trouble, he would have said something. Right? He wouldn’t just leave her hanging like that if he could help it.

But. He might have been taken by surprise. Then he wouldn’t have had time to tell her what was going on.

Shit. No. Don’t think about that. Even on the off chance that _did_ happen, he’s resourceful. And self-sufficient. He’s gotten himself out of some pretty sticky situations before without any intervention from her. He can take care of himself. She doesn’t have to worry and dote over him like he’s some helpless moron with no survival instinct.

She knows this. She knows and acknowledges and _understands_ this, but that still doesn’t stop her from running through every possible thing that could have gone wrong and fearing the absolute worst.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“God _dammit_ ,” she swears under her breath, but apparently it’s still loud enough to get Flick’s attention.

“Something wrong?” they ask, like the answer isn’t already incredibly obvious.

Fiona nods stiffly anyway, folding her arms over her chest. “Rhys just went radio silent. We have a way out, but I don’t... I don’t know what happened. To him. Or where he is. Or if he’s okay.”

She bites down hard on her tongue to keep even more of her embarrassing uncertainty from overflowing out of her mouth. Flick regards her with something akin to sympathy, tilting their head to the side. “I’m sure he’s fine. Both of you are like a really bad rash. Just when you start thinking you got rid of it once and for all, it comes back when you least expect it. So try not to worry so much. We’ll find him. Or he’ll find us. Probably.”

That... has to be the worst advice she’s ever heard. Try not to worry so much? Seriously? Wow! If only she’d thought of that.

Fiona sighs at herself and leans back against the wall behind her. They’re just trying to make her feel better, dammit. She can’t fault them for that. Even if they did compare her and Rhys to a rash. Which is a pretty shitty way to cheer someone up, actually, but at least they put in the effort.

At any rate, there’s nothing she can do about it right now. Her best bet is to stick to the plan and follow the route Rhys sent her, and just hope that he manages to pull through on his end. Because if he doesn’t, well... she’ll just... kick his ass. Or something. Drag him back from the afterlife to murder him all over again. Yeah, that sounds right. Nothing logically erroneous or just downright not possible about that whatsoever.

The rest of the ride up to the thirty-fourth floor is quiet, tension hanging so thickly in the air Fiona swears she could reach out and touch it if she tried. She memorizes as much of the revised route as she can in the time she has, and once the elevator chimes and the doors slide open, she motions for Isabel and Flick to stay back while she takes a peek out into the hall. Luckily, it’s completely deserted all the way down to the main corridor it connects to. It’s much busier down there by comparison, but thanks to Rhys, they get to skip that hellish obstacle course altogether.

Fiona takes another quick look at the map on her helm display again. Supposedly, one of the doors in this hallway leads to stairwell that will take them down a couple flights to a seldomly used service elevator. That should put them out on the ground floor in a back hallway that doesn’t see a lot of foot traffic, and from there it’s just navigating the maze to get out to the lot behind the building. While simultaneously avoiding any lone guards that also happen to be skulking around back there. Total cakewalk. Hopefully.

She glances back at Flick and Isabel once the commotion down at the other end of the corridor seems to calm down some. “You guys ready?”

“As ready as we can be,” Flick replies, taking Isabel’s arm around their shoulders again. “You sure you know where we’re going?”

“Yeah,” Fiona says, and then, “Sort of. Probably.” She scoffs at the disbelieving look Flick gives her before remembering they can’t even see it. “Just- Come on. Before someone starts coming down the hall.”

Fiona takes the lead, scouting ahead to find the door to the stairwell and holding it open to let Flick and Isabel go through first. Nobody comes rushing in after them so she doesn’t think they were seen, but actually navigating the steps with two heavily injured companions proves to be... problematic. Isabel is still incredibly uncoordinated and Flick is clearly in a lot of pain, but the kid continues supporting half her weight while Fiona takes over the other as the three of them slowly make their descent.

After what feels like an eternity, they finally get four levels down to the thirtieth floor. Fiona pokes her head out into the hallway to make sure it’s all clear before jogging across to hit the call button on the service elevator, signaling for Flick and Isabel to stay back until it arrives.

“ _This is Hawkeye to Batman, Hawkeye to Batman, over,_ ” Ezra’s voice suddenly fills her ears, making her jump. “ _Have you secured the hostages? I repeat, have you secured the hostages?_ ”

“Uh.” Fiona makes a face at the inside of her helmet solely for her own benefit. “I... guess? Why are you talking like that? And why am I Batman?”

“ _Because it’s fun? And if I don’t make light of this incredibly dark and depressing situation then I might have a nervous breakdown? Why else?_ ”

Well. That’s... fair?

“ _Also, you’re Batman because of your-_ ” he starts and then cuts himself off with this overly exasperated sigh. “ _Never mind. I just wanted to let you and Rhys know that the charges are set and I have the ship ready. It will be the farthest one out on the left side of the lot. How, um. How many prisoners were you able to get out? Was- Did you find-_ ”

“Flick and Isabel are fine,” she assures him quickly. “Mostly. We’re on our way out now. But... there wasn’t anyone else. That we could help. I’m sorry.”

A few seconds pass before he sighs dejectedly. “ _Okay. That’s... unfortunate. But thank you. Thank you for trying._ ”

They’re both quiet for a moment, the silence grim and weighty, before something about what he said before comes back and bites her in the ass. “Wait a second, did you say charges?”

“ _Um,_ ” he says, taken aback. “ _Yes?_ ”

“Explosive charges?”

“ _Yes?_ ”

“As in... explosive _explosions_?”

“ _...Yeees?_ ”

The elevator _dings_ and the doors slide open in front of her, but all she can do is stand stock still in disbelief. “Just. What.”

“ _I said I had to go back home to get my stuff, didn’t I? What did you think I meant?_ ”

“I don’t... know?” she admits after a moment. “You said it all creepily and with this weird look on your face so I didn’t really want to know, either. But I sure as hell didn’t think you were planning on blowing the whole place up.”

“ _I’m not, actually._ ”

“Oh,” she says, deflating a little. And then she remembers the open elevator in front of her, so she turns around to motion for Flick and Isabel to come on out after making sure there’s still no one else around. “That’s... good?”

“ _I’m just going to destroy their entire arsenal of military crafts. And the AION server facility. And the backup server facility. Just to impede communication across this star system for a while. Nothing big._ ”

Despite still having her helmet on, Fiona slaps her forehead. Nothing big. Yeah. Okay. Just big enough to get them all thrown right on the Top Ten Most Wanted Fugitives list. When she said she’d always imagined she’d go out with a bang, this isn’t exactly what she meant. But it’s obviously too late to change the plan now, so. She guesses this is what they’re going with.

Once everyone’s in, Fiona hits the button for the first floor before leaning back to bring Isabel and Flick up to speed on this batshit crazy scheme Ezra’s cooked up. Neither one of them seem very surprised- Isabel even appears to be vaguely amused- so stuff like this must be a common occurrence for the three of them. She’s not sure what to make of it other than at least that probably means their relationship never gets boring.

Fiona’s still holding out hope that she’ll get some word from Rhys any time now, since Ezra came across the radio just fine. The likelihood that it was some type of error with the signal is dwindling down to nothing, and as they continue their descent down to the ground level of the building, her dread increases tenfold, threatening to crush her from inside out. And there’s still nothing she can do about it, not really, which makes that suffocating feeling about a million times worse. She can’t go running amok looking for him when she doesn’t even have a general idea of where he could be, and she can’t just leave Flick and Isabel to fend for themselves either. All she can do is wait, and believe, and keep pushing forward. And if she hasn’t heard anything from him by the time she gets Flick and Isabel to the ship, well.

Then she’ll just have to stay behind.

And she’ll figure out what to do then, if it comes to that. Where to start looking and how they’re going to escape by themselves once she finds him. But for now, she puts it out of her mind, leaving all those _what ifs_ and _maybes_ somewhere where they won’t interfere with the objective that’s already in front of her.

Once they get down to the ground floor and Fiona gives the all clear, they start making slow but steady progress through the back hallways. Luck is on their side for the first half of their physically torturous journey, the only signs of any wandering patrols being far-off echoes of footsteps and conversation. Still, Fiona’s careful to check around every corner and back over her shoulder constantly, keeping her head on the swivel as the trio hobbles their way towards freedom.

They’re only a few turns away from the exit when the unmistakable noise of a door sliding open sounds from the alarmingly close behind them. They all freeze in tandem, craning their necks around to watch a rather tall woman dressed in a Sec-Corps uniform step out of one of the rooms they just passed. She’s almost within spitting distance, close enough that Fiona can hear her talking into her earpiece but the words muffled by the sound of her own pulse thundering in her ears like a storm.

But she thankfully- _thankfully_ \- doesn’t look towards them, or even notice the small droplets of blood on the ground Flick has been leaving in their wake. The officer just locks the door behind her and turns in the opposite direction, and Fiona, Flick, and Isabel remain wholly, utterly still until she finally disappears around the corner.

There’s this deep, collective sigh of relief they all share, and Fiona shakes her head as she turns back around to face forward again. “That was _way_ too clo-”

She cuts herself off abruptly.

Another Sec-Corps officer stands right in front of them, hands outstretched from where they were carrying a stack of files before obviously dropping them out of shock. Their gaze slides from her to Isabel to Flick and then back again, and for one impossibly long and tense moment, time grinds to a halt.

Nobody moves.

Nobody breathes.

And then the officer whips out a nightstick from a holster on their belt, reaching up to enunciate carefully into their earpiece, “Break, break. We have a code thirteen in records. I repeat, we have a code thirteen in records.”

Oh, _shit_. Fiona ducks under where Isabel’s arm is still slung across her shoulders, surging ahead to take a swing at the officer. But they’re fast, steeling their baton just in time to block the blow and then shoving back with enough force to send her stumbling backwards.

“All available units respond to level one records,” the officer continues, spinning the nightstick around in their hand and preparing to make a run at her. “I repeat, all units respond to level one records.”

They were impressively quick the first time, but they make the mistake of taking too long to follow up. And having a loose grip. Fiona waits until they rush her, easily dodging to the side and yanking the baton out of their grasp before swinging it back up to deliver a swift bash to the side of their head.

That’s all it takes to cut their transmission short and put them on the ground. Fiona bends down to rip their earpiece out and crushes it under her boot just to be safe. It’s night night time, asshole.

Get it? Because she knocked them out with a _night_ stick? She grins to herself, biting back a snort. Ohhh, that was a good one. She really cracks herself up sometimes.

After dropping the baton next to the snoozing officer and moving back over to Isabel’s side again, the trio sets off to continue on their merry way. But they haven’t even taken three steps when the shrill scream of an alarm siren blasts unexpectedly through the corridors, scaring the absolute shit out of all of them. And it just keeps going, over and over again on a deafening loop as the emergency lights screwed into the walls all start flashing red.

So. She guesses she wasn’t quick enough disarming that officer after all. What a waste of a good pun, too.

And also, probably more importantly.

Shit.

Flick says something, but it’s drowned out so heavily by all the noise that Fiona has to ask- or shout, really- for them to repeat themselves twice before they finally yell loud enough, “I said! This! Sucks!”

“Yeah!” Fiona agrees, because it really, really does. “Let’s get out of here before more of them show up!”

“What?”

“I said let’s _go_!”

They all pick up the pace as best they can. By the time they round the second to last corner, she and Flick are very nearly having to drag Isabel along. She looks bad- her face all pale again and breathing fast and shallow- but they can’t stop, not even for a second, not when Fiona can just barely hear the sound of people barking orders at each other over the sound of the alarm. Scouting the hallways to find them, no doubt. But they can’t fail now, not when they’re this _close_. Her entire body is slaked with sweat and every stride feels even more impossible than the last, but they don’t have a choice. They have to keep going. They _have_ to.

And they do. Step by agonizing step, one foot in front of the other. The last hallway is right up ahead, and from there it’s just a left and then a short ways to the exit. It’ll be easier to lose them outside, she’s sure of it. They just... have to get there. Before their pursuers do.

But they’re catching up now, voices getting louder, footsteps coming closer. The trio gets to the fork and starts turning the corner and _there_ , there it is, the door leading out to the lot where Ezra is waiting with the ship. Isabel trips and stumbles and almost loses her footing but Flick catches her, and both they and Fiona are helping her right herself when something suddenly _smacks_ into Fiona from behind.

She whips around dangerously, drawing her gun in an instant. All she sees is the body armor, the featureless helmet, the black and white uniform she’s already come to associate as an enemy. The soldier puts his hands up but she advances on him anyway, backing him up against the wall and finger twitching over the trigger as she aims down the sights at his head.

But she hesitates. Why does she hesitate? That’s not like her, to falter when she has such a clear advantage. He’s talking, she thinks, but even if she could make out the words, she wouldn’t be interested in listening to whatever he has to say. He’s here to stop them, to kill them, and like hell is she going to let that happen. Not when they’ve come this far already. It’s him or them. Kill or be killed. If tonight has taught her anything, it’s that none of these people deserve mercy when they have none to give themselves.

And yet she still doesn’t pull the trigger. She just watches as he slooowly reaches up to hit the clasp behind his ear. And when the helmet’s gone, when black and white turns to brown and gold, it makes sense. She understands, all of a sudden, what her gut was trying to tell her.

She’s also struck with a knee-weakening amount of relief that she chose to listen to it instead of shooting Rhys in the head. Because accident or no, the consequences of that would have been... catastrophic. To say the very least.

“It’s just me,” Rhys says, or at least, that’s what it looks like he says. She still can’t hear him very well over all the noise but she sees his lips move, and she’s pretty sure that’s what he says. It makes more sense than ‘liftoff pee’ or ‘grits are free’ or ‘endoscopy’, at any rate, so. Yeah. That’s what she’s going with.

After shoving her borrowed gun back in its holster, Fiona throws her arms around Rhys’ neck to crush him into a hug. Because she’s _happy_ , goddammit, she’s so happy to see him. He could have been hurt- he could have been _dead_ \- and she would have had no way of knowing because he decided to just drop off the grid for seemingly no good reason. Like, screw keeping open communication during a life or death mission, right? Making Fiona worry is sooo much more fun, right?

...Okay, actually? She takes it back. She’s not happy. She’s _pissed_. She pushes him away by the shoulders before he can even start to reciprocate the hug so she can punch him in the arm hard enough to hurt. And she wants to chew him out too, to scream and yell and shake him until some sense gets through that stupid, thick skull of his. But the needlessly loud alarm still going off kind of makes that impossible, so she settles on slapping at the clasp behind her ear to deactivate her own helmet and scowling up at him, deep and mean. He just shakes his head a little in response, rubbing tenderly at his bicep where she hit him and making this face like he’s not quite sure what to make of her flip-flopping attitude.

She doesn’t even get to find the delicate balance between surly and intimidating before she feels someone tugging at her arm. She glances back to see Flick glowering up at her like they just watched her kick a puppy while Isabel is a few steps behind them leaning so heavily against the wall Fiona’s worried she might keel over at any moment. Shit. Right. Yeah. Escaping. That’s what they were doing before Rhys up and decided to show his face again after disappearing without a word. She can more thoroughly kick his ass for that later. Right now, they have bigger problems to deal with.

Rhys quickly moves to take over supporting Isabel’s weight so Fiona is free to help Flick. They’re all able to move somewhat faster as a result, pushing onwards towards the exit and then out into the cool, breezy dawn outside.

The stretch of blacktop before them is _huge_ \- which Fiona sort of expected anyway, since that seems to be a constant around here- and countless ships line the tarmac, while even more are poking out of open hangars at the very far end of the campus. None of these crafts closer to them appear to be fighters; still built solid and sturdy enough to sustain a good amount of assault but no visible weapons on them themselves. Most have their storage bays open to reveal pallets of... something being loaded onto them by workers in bright yellow uniforms. There’s crates of the stuff laying out all over the lot, actually, organized into rows and carefully wrapped in some type of shiny, protective material. The Eridium export shipments, maybe? That’s her best guess. But she’s never seen so much of it stored closely together in one place like this before. There’s no way that’s safe.

The entire place is also buzzing with activity, people running back and forth across the grounds to get those crates onto ships. The four of them duck behind the nearest stacks of wrapped Eridium ingots to hide and take a breather, but it doesn’t look like anybody is on the alert and looking for escapees. News of the alarm must not have gotten out here yet, then. But it probably won’t be long before it does, so they have to move fast. Ezra said he’d be in the farthest ship out on the left side of the lot so that’s the direction they head in, sticking to the shadows and using cover when they can to keep out of sight of the workers as much as possible.

Fiona can’t hold back a sigh of relief when the last ship on the left is just coming into sight. But then, suddenly, Flick stops walking, causing Fiona to nearly trip over her own feet. Rhys and Isabel don’t notice and keep on going while Fiona just focuses on not eating asphalt after being so rudely thrown off balance.

The kid peers back over their shoulder as Fiona finds her center of gravity. “Do you hear something?”

Rolling her eyes, Fiona gently yanks them forwards in an attempt to encourage them into motion again. “I hear a lot of things, kid. It’s noisy. We don’t have time for this.”

They don’t budge from their spot, eyes still locked on the path between the pallets of crates they just came through. “It sounded like... footsteps. I think there’s someone back there.”

“Okay, Flick? We’re in the middle of a ship lot full of people. I’d be surprised if someone _wasn’t_ back there. But I promise you, everyone’s too busy moving shit all over the place and running around like little worker ants to-”

“Yeah, see, that metaphor doesn’t work because I still don’t know what these so-called ‘ant’ things are.” They actually draw their arm back so they can emphasize it with the air quotes. “And I don’t want to know. Whatever weird conspiracy theories you’re into, just keep them to yourself.”

Fiona rubs at her forehead, exasperated. She is waaay too tired for this. “Look, the point is, nobody is paying any attention to us. Whatever you heard was probably just one of these guys wandering around back here doing inventory. Now will you _stop_ being paranoid and just-”

Something _slams_ against the back of her head so hard she immediately falls to her knees with a shout, pain throbbing from the crown of her skull all the way down to her ears as stars dance into her vision. Shit. _Shit_. It hurts, god, it _hurts_ and everything’s blurry and down feels like up and up feels like down. But she shakes it off, flipping herself over onto her back and kicking herself backwards along the ground to get away from her assailant before they can attack her again.

But she wasn’t the true target, as it turns out.

A soldier in a Protectorate uniform like her and Rhys’ holds Flick firmly in a chokehold, the barrel of his gun flush against their temple and finger ready on the trigger.

Oh, no. Oh no, no, _no_.

“Stand up,” the soldier orders her, and even through her stupor, there’s something about his voice that seems... familiar. But the helmet obscuring his face makes it impossible for her to make the connection, so she shoves that mental note into the back of her mind in favor of things far more important.

She doesn’t move. _Can’t_ move, really- out of shock, she thinks, or maybe just crippling fear. The soldier tightens his grip on the kid to the point that it looks painful- they thrash under his arm, struggling to so much as even _breathe_ \- and Fiona has to smother the heat that unlocks her joints and threads through her veins like a wildfire.

No. Don’t act. Not yet, not _yet_. Letting impulse take the reigns will only get them killed. She needs to bide her time, and strike only when the moment is right.

“I said. Stand. _Up_.” The soldier enunciates slowly, impatience seeping into his tone. Fiona obeys for now, gingerly pushing herself up onto her knees and then her feet as the ache in her head radiates from the back of her head down her spine. This guy must want something from them, though she isn’t sure what. If he didn’t, he would have just shot and killed both of them and been done with it. She’s racking her brain for what it could be and how to use it to her advantage when movement in her peripheral suddenly catches her eye.

 _Rhys_. He’s creeping slowly down between the crates in the next row over, stance low and staying surprisingly light on his feet. He must have noticed she and Flick fell behind and came back to help. But why? What is he even doing? He should have just kept moving and gotten Isabel on the ship while she took care of this. But nooo, of course not. He just had to come back and try to play the hero, didn’t he? One wrong move now and they’re all royally screwed.

Unless he can pull... whatever it is he’s trying to do off. Position himself behind the soldier so he can take him by surprise? She’s guessing that’s his plan, because he keeps going even after he’s already passed by where they’re having their standoff. She has to give him credit, it’s a smart move- and probably better than anything she would have been able to do on her own- so she switches gears completely to work around it. Keeping this asshole from putting a bullet in Flick’s skull is still the priority, but now her main goal is to stall until Rhys can find an opening and take him down.

“There were four of you,” the soldier states simply as he adjusts his hold on the kid, who’s still squirming around furiously in his grasp.

Fiona expects him to continue that very obvious statement of fact with some kind of follow up remark, or maybe even a question, but he doesn’t. So she just goes, “Uh. Yep.”

“Where are the others?” he demands. Oooh, okay. He was just waiting for the dramatic effect, then. That makes sense.

But also, she’s not just going to tell him where her companions are. Does he think she’s stupid? Outright lying might not be the best idea because of that stupid helmet and its creepily thorough scanning capabilities, so she settles on a half-truth. “They went on ahead without us.”

Clearly not the answer he was looking for, if the way he jabs his gun even harder against Flick’s head is anything to go by. “Take me to them. Now.”

“I’d rather not.”

“You _will_. Or else.”

God, what is up with this dude? _You will or else_. Or else what? Like, she already knows what, but he could at least be a little more scary about it. Explain to her in gruesome detail how he’s going to murder her friend right before her eyes if she doesn’t give him exactly what he wants or something. That would be waaay more motivational than just leaving it all up to the imagination. It’s like he trying to be a badass but lacks the vocabulary to make a convincing effort. What a tool.

She sees Rhys slinking between the pallets behind the soldier, almost in position. She doesn’t watch him directly as to not give him away, taking a few very tentative steps forward towards the soldier to close some of the distance between them. “Or else what, tough guy? You’re going to shoot me? You’re going to shoot _them_?”

He seems... confused. Like he was expecting her to be more frightened by that possibility. “...Yes?”

“Well, you’re going to have a pretty hard time doing that once I-”

Rhys’ foot gets caught on a crate sticking out a little further from the others and, despite his very best efforts, he winds up face planting right behind the soldier’s feet.

The soldier spins around at the commotion, yanking Flick along with him. “What is-”

Fiona jumps at the opportunity- not exactly how she imagined this playing out, but she can work with it- and sprints towards the soldier at top speed, throwing her entire weight at his back to knock him to the ground. He’s taller than she is but built like a twig, so it turns out to be a little overkill. Still, it does the job well enough, forcing him to drop his gun and release Flick so he can catch himself on his hands before his face slams against the concrete.

The kid’s just barely recovered from stumbling out of his grasp- still coughing and gasping for air- before they’re whirling around and kicking him _hard_ in the side of the skull. And they look like they mean to do it again when the clasp behind the soldier’s ear starts throwing off sparks, no doubt damaged from the hit, and then malfunctions altogether. His helmet dematerializes after a moment, leaving his blonde, curly head completely unprotected.

“Oh, _this_ guy?” Flick wheezes in distaste, jamming their foot roughly into his ribs to force him to roll over onto his back. “Ugh. Should have known it was you. So the whole quiet, sensitive boy thing wasn’t really an act, huh? You’re just too stupid to spit out more than five words at once?”

Oh, shit, _that’s_ right. Xavier. Isabel’s assistant. The guy who ratted on the whole movement and caused this mess in the first place. No wonder his voice sounded so familiar. What were the chances of running into this asshole again? Probably slim to none. Weird how that works.

Fiona drifts over to where Rhys is struggling to pick himself up off the ground, helping him up and brushing off some of the gravel stuck to him while simultaneously checking him over for injuries. The left side of his undersuit looks wet, under his arm and spreading down across his ribs, but she doesn’t have a chance to ask about it before some scuffling behind a stack of crates makes them all freeze in their tracks.

A tall figure limps out from the shadows. Isabel, they all realize at the same time when the soft light of the sunrise falls across her face, a sigh of relief moving through the three of them at once. But then Fiona notices the gun in her trembling hands- Xavier’s she thinks; it must have skidded away when he dropped it- and the look of broken betrayal in her eyes.

She staggers to a stop at Xavier’s feet, considering him vacantly for a moment before jerking her arms up to aim the pistol at his head.

“I just,” she starts and then falters, taking a breath and then another, squinting like she can’t quite focus on what’s in front of her. “I just... want to know why.”

Xavier blinks up at her, seemingly unafraid. “Why what?”

“Why you would- Why you would _do_ this. To me. To all of us. Why you would-” Her voice breaks and she swallows hard, trying again, “Why you would want to hurt us, and- and _kill_ us when all we’ve ever done, all we’ve ever tried to do is help people. You worked with us for months. You knew how few in numbers we were. What our mission was. We were never going to overthrow Orcus. You knew that. You _had_ to have known that.”

He nods once, no hesitation. “Yes.”

“Then _why_? What did- What did we ever do to deserve this? What did we ever do to you?”

Xavier seems to think on that for a moment. And then, only after choosing his words carefully, he utters without a morsel of regret, “You were disobeying the law.”

Isabel makes this choked sound in her throat, fingers tightening around the grip of the gun. “That’s- That’s it? You’re hunting us down- all of us, even our families, our _friends_ \- and- and murdering us because we disobeyed the _law_?”

“Orcus keeps the peace,” he explains nonchalantly. “You were disturbing it. A crime punishable by death.”

Isabel is silent momentarily, blinking down at him in disbelief. And then she laughs, long and loud and hysterical, and she sounds so eerily similar to her dead twin all of a sudden that a chill runs up Fiona’s spine. “What kind of- What kind of fucked up law is that? No, you’re just- you’re all just- fuck you. _Fuck_ you. You killed my friends. You killed my friends and you don’t even _fucking_ care, you- you-”

Flick clears their throat and nudges her gently. “Just shoot him and get it over with, Issa. This is taking too long.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, okaaay.” Rhys takes a few steps forward, waving his hands for everybody to stop. “I hate to, uh, cut in and be the only voice of reason here, but we could just... knock him out? Is- Is killing him really necessary? Maybe if we leave him alive-”

“What, you think the rest of them will go easy on us?” Flick turns and advances on him so fast that he actually backs up. “You still don’t get how these jackoffs work, do you? All they care about is their screwed up vision of bringing ‘order’ and ‘peace’ across the galaxy, or whatever it is they’re telling themselves these days. Okay? They’re all insane. They’re like a cult. They don’t even see us as real people. We’re just obstacles to them, things to be removed and paved over whenever we get in their way.”

Rhys looks too uncomfortable to argue his point further, so Fiona steps in. “They can’t all be like that, kid.”

“Yeah, well, maybe. But _this_ one sure is.” Flick turns back to deliver another kick to Xavier’s ribs, making him cough and wheeze in agony. “Just kill him already, Issa. He needs to pay for what he did.”

Isabel hesitates for a beat and then shakes her head slowly. “I... I don’t-”

“Do you think we have all night? Just get it over with so we can go.”

“I’m not- I don’t think I can-”

Something in Flick snaps then, and they whirl around to bark cruelly in her face, “Just _do_ it, Isabel!”

“ _No_!” She throws the gun down like it’s burning her, and it clatters to a stop at Flick’s feet. “I can’t- just- just stop it already! You sound just like _her_!”

The silence that follows is oppressive.

Rhys looks to Fiona like she might be able to do something, but she shakes her head helplessly. She’s not sure she could put a stop to this even if she tried.

Flick’s expression is blank as they bend down to retrieve the pistol from where Isabel dropped it. And then they turn to Xavier, raising the gun up and aiming down the sights right at the middle of his forehead.

“No,” Isabel pleads, grabbing for their shoulder desperately. “No, Flick, please don’t-”

Just as they pull the trigger, Isabel yanks their arm off course, causing them to miss Xavier completely and send a bolt bouncing off one of the nearby stacks of Eridium. Whatever it’s wrapped with rips halfway down the side, exposing the telltale purple glow and allowing a few ingots to spill out onto the ground from the top.

And, strangely enough, Fiona’s entire left side starts to... itch? Sort of? It’s an odd feeling, and not very easy to describe. It’s like something is boiling underneath her skin, or maybe just crawling around, but it’s not uncomfortable, exactly. Just... unnerving. A vague prickling of a sensation, barely even there, lingering on the edge of her perception but still noticeable enough to make her fidget.

“You’d shoot an unarmed man?” Xavier is saying, pulling Fiona’s attention from her weird, itchy-but-not-really-itchy itchiness and back to the present. His voice wavers slightly now that he knows he’s staring his own death in the face, but his chin still remains raised high, arrogant and proud.

Flick jerks their arm back away from Isabel and reaims the gun correctly, tilting their head. “A man like you? Yeah. Without a second thought.”

Xavier opens his mouth to reply and then shuts it again, thinking over what he wants to say before finally deciding on, “You’re going to hell.”

Isabel doesn’t get the chance to try to stop them again. The gun goes off before anyone’s expecting it, the shot echoing faintly all around them until it trails off into the low buzz of background noise from the workers out in the lot.

“Guess I’ll see you there,” Flick tells his lifeless body.

And then they proceed to hold down the trigger and unload the rest of the clip into his face.

They’re lucky the commotion out in the main lot is loud enough to drown out the sound of the cells discharging. There’s not a lot of blood either, the heat mostly cauterizing everything on impact. But as skin and muscle melt away to bone and collect on the ground in steaming, rancid pools, Fiona’s mouth goes dry. She looks away, over at Rhys, who seems to be just as disturbed as she is, if not more.

And she’s surprised to find that she also feels a little _guilty_ , of all things. But it wasn’t her place, was it? To talk Flick down? This was the kid’s call to make, but she still can’t help but think they handled it... poorly. There had to have been a better way, anyway. There almost always is.

But who’s to say Xavier didn’t have this coming? His death won’t fix what’s broken in this world, but maybe it’ll give some closure to what’s been lost today. Even if vengeance often turns out to be empty.

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know how she should feel. Maybe there’s not even an inherently right or wrong answer in the first place. But when Fiona glances over to see Isabel on the verge of collapse, she starts wondering, really wondering, if maybe they should have done something different after all.

Fiona’s closer to her than Rhys is so she rushes over to catch her before her knees can give out altogether. Isabel is still watching in horror as Xavier’s face continues to disintegrate, the tears in her eyes that have been a near constant since they found her finally spilling over to run down her cheeks like little rivers. She coughs and gasps and brings up a hand to smother a sob into her palm, twisting her fingers in the fabric of Fiona’s undersuit for support as she threatens to come apart at the seams.

Yeahhh. It’s... time to go. Before this situation turns from bad to worse.

Coaxing Isabel away from the scene is a process, but after some pushing and prodding, Fiona gets them turned around and moving towards where Ezra is still waiting in the ship. She spares a withering look over her shoulder at where Rhys is hesitantly approaching Flick, watching as he quietly says something only for them to throw the pistol on the ground and bury their face in their hands in response. And then she turns back around with a sigh, shaking her head. She’s had it up to _here_ with all the theatrics and drama for tonight. She’s tired and sweaty and everything hurts, so at this point all she cares about is getting on that ship and sitting the hell down.

Still, she makes sure Flick and Rhys are right behind them as they all cross that last stretch of the tarmac. The ship Ezra chose is significantly smaller than any of the other ones currently out on the lot, looking more like a survey vessel than anything that’s meant to ship things from planet to planet. But she’s assuming it still has the ability to get past the shields, or that it has the special authorization or whatever it was Ezra kept saying. He probably wouldn’t have picked it out otherwise.

The storage bay doors are already open as trudge their way towards the ship. Ezra peeks out from the entrance to the main cabin and then comes jogging down the ramp when he sees them, already having pried off his armor from the waist up and appearing to be rather... damp. Fiona supposes running around and planting explosives all over the place is a pretty sweaty endeavor, though. Unless it’s just stress sweat. Or a mixture of both.

Upon noticing the borderline hysterical state Isabel is in, Ezra rushes forward to catch her by the shoulders. In between touching her face and arms and hair and generally just puttering about like he’s not quite sure how to help, he signs something at her in visible concern. She seems to miss it the first time, so he repeats himself verbally, “What did they do to you, Issa?”

Isabel shakes her head and uses her sleeve to wipe at the tears and moisture accumulating on her face. “Nothing. Nothing serious. I’m fine. I just- I just need to-”

Flick clears their throat to get everyone’s attention as they and Rhys come into earshot. “She’s detoxing, actually. They had her hooked up to something that was speeding it up and making it worse to try to get her to talk. She’ll be better for a little while, but as we all know, it’s only downhill from here.”

It’s... somewhat shocking. Not what they said- Fiona had sort of suspected it anyway, she just hadn’t felt the need to make assumptions- but the fact that the kid is being so accusatory about it. Ezra turns back to Isabel, fumbling a minute for the words until he eventually manages, “Is that true? You were- You’ve been using?”

“Obviously, it’s true,” Flick pipes up again, answering for Isabel before she even gets to say anything for herself. “Just _look_ at her. It’s exactly the same as last time.” They laugh humorlessly, _spitefully_ , untangling themselves from where they were leaning on Rhys for support so they can limp over and jab Ezra in the chest with their finger. “I guess I was the only one who cared about keeping her on the wagon, huh? Tell me, Ezra, really, did you try to help her? At all? Or were you too busy playing Mission: Impossible to even notice she was on that crap again in the first place?”

Fiona sighs, suddenly wanting to be very far away from here. Rhys looks like he feels about the same. Flick fumes indignantly, Isabel refuses to make eye contact with anyone, and Ezra’s gaze slides between all four of them in turn before he ducks his head and folds his arms over his chest. “I... see we have a lot to talk about.”

The kid only offers him a dark, angry look as a response before turning towards the door to the ship and hitting their shoulder against his as they pass. Ezra lets out a slow breath, looking like he means to say something else to Isabel before changing his mind and simply stepping forward to take over supporting her weight instead. Fiona passes her off carefully, and she mumbles something that sounds apologetic as the pair staggers in the same direction Flick went, but Ezra just shushes her and persists in gently leading her along.

Yeesh. Heavy. Heavy stuff.

She and Rhys turn to follow them after a moment despite their mutual unwillingness to do so. It’s only going to be stuffy and awkward in that cabin because of... whatever is happening between those three right now, but they don’t exactly have a choice. Fiona spares one last glance over her shoulder as the storage bay ramp recedes behind them and the doors start to close, admiring the way the sunrise is just barely bleeding over the edges of the skyline. So long, shitty, insufferable hellhole of a city! And hellooo horrifically uncomfortable social situations!

Assuming they can make it off the planet alive. Or even off the ground. But whatever, one step at a time.

Once she and Rhys are through the door to the main part of the ship, a short, dark hallway leads them to the center command module. It’s a little on the cramped side- the room wider than it is long and obviously not meant for an entire crew of people- but still large enough to semi-adequately accommodate the five of them. Plus... a cat. Lucky’s already made himself comfortable up on the dash where all the controls are, curled up into a little ball with his tail over his nose as Ezra sits down in the captain’s seat. Flick is rooting around in a first aid kit they pulled out of somewhere while Isabel is already sprawled out on her side on one of the benches built into the walls on both sides of the cabin. Fiona and Rhys drift over to the other one, both sinking down gratefully and letting out a deep sigh of relief at _finally_ being off their feet in unison.

The ship already seems to be started up and idling, so all that’s left to do is take off and get the hell out of here. Preferably before any of these lot workers notice something’s up and sound the alarm or something. But Ezra appears to be unsure of what he’s doing, and Fiona gets this itch of a hunch in the back of her head.

“Do you even know how to drive this thing?” she eventually wonders skeptically.

Ezra isn’t looking at her directly but she can tell his expression goes sheepish. “I... didn’t have very long to read the manual. It was more like a quick skim over the basics. So I have a vague idea? Sort of?” He glimpses over at her with a meek, lopsided grin. “Does that help?”

It absolutely does not.

Rhys lets his eyes slide shut momentarily and sighs for so long that Fiona starts wondering how he can do that without, like, stopping to take a breath or anything. And then he heaves himself up to his feet again to wander over and take a look and see if he can help troubleshoot the problem.

In the meantime, Fiona turns her attention to figuring out how to get some of this damn body armor off. The gloves are easy enough, since all she has to do is deactivate them via the little bracelet thingies on her wrists, but everything else she has to figure out by trial and error. By the time she surmises how to apply pressure to certain spots to get the pieces to pop free, the ship’s engine is revving up and they’re finally taking off. Rhys returns to his spot next to her after he’s satisfied they’re not going to immediately crash and burn, allowing Ezra to take over from there.

Everybody holds their breath as they fly away from the ship lot. While the radio crackles to life and someone in flight control informs them they don’t have permission to leave the city, nobody tries to shoot them down. Not yet, anyway. Fiona gets the feeling that’s about to change when Ezra pulls over a detonator that was just sitting on the dash next to the sleeping cat.

“Wait, hold on, I want to do something,” Flick says suddenly, hopping up from the floor and ambling over to grab the receiver for the radio. “This is- This is, uh. Crap. What’s the call sign for this ship?”

That last part is addressed at Ezra, who shrugs and makes an _I-don’t-know_ sound in the back of his throat.

Rolling their eyes, the kid turns back to the radio. “Okay, whatever, just listen up. You-”

“ _This is Central Dogma to Janus-02 requesting you land immediately. You do not have permission to leave the city. Repeat, this is Central Dogma to-_ ”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, we heard you the first time,” Flick snarks into the receiver. “Eat me. We’re not landing. And guess what? All your base are belong to us now, bitches.”

They actually take a moment to giggle-snort at their own awful, awful joke.

“ _Janus-02, you do not_ -”

Flick shuts off the radio before leaning over and slapping the button on the detonator.

Literally. Nothing happens.

So they press it again. And again, and again, until Ezra snatches the device away from them with a very exasperated huff. “It’s on a proximity timer, Flick. They won’t go off until we’re past the shields.”

“Oh,” they say, genuinely disappointed.

Fiona just shakes her head. “You might want to work on your comedic timing, kid.”

“You might want to work on your comedy in general,” Rhys adds on. “It’s a little dated. That kind of thing tends to alienate your audience.”

“Well, my _audience_ can- can just-” they stammer and sputter, obviously trying to put together a clever comeback but falling way short so they settle on, “-just _shut up_.”

Rhys crosses one arm over his chest and brings the other one up to rest his chin in his palm, looking expressly smug but not saying anything else.

Flick returns to sorting through the first aid kit as the ship hurtles up towards the shields. They pass through them without incident and the distant sound of a bunch of explosions going off somewhere below them follows shortly after, the resulting shockwave powerful enough to reach even this high up and shake briefly through the ship.

“That should stop anyone from following us for a while,” Ezra says from his seat, adjusting some of the controls as they prepare to enter the higher levels of the atmosphere. “And hinder Orcus communication via the AION in this system for the time being. But I’ve set the ship on silent running to lower the chances of any passing satellites tagging us on the way out just in case. Or... at least I think I did. Pretty sure, anyway. I suppose we will find out soon enough.”

Wow. Fiona’s not sure what any of that means, exactly, but the fact that he exudes so much confidence about it is totally reassuring.

Slumping back against the wall with a sigh, Fiona folds her hands over her stomach and finally lets herself _relax_ for the first time this evening. But she doesn’t even get two minutes of that before Rhys is nudging her back to attention again only to ask her to... help him get undressed. In those exact words. And then he gets all red in the face when he realizes what he just said, falling over himself to explain what he actually meant by that while Fiona tries not to explode from choking back her laughter.

After snickering for an entirely inappropriate amount of time at his expense, she shows him the technique she worked out for popping off the plates of armor from his suit. They start with his arms and finish with the chest plate, leaving his legs alone for now. As she’s tossing the removed pieces onto the floor next to hers, she sees the wet spot on his side has gotten bigger from when she first noticed it before they got on the ship. A small tear in the material runs lengthwise across his ribs, and the fabric surrounding it is stained dark with... blood?

“Oh my god,” she blurts, pushing his arm out of the way so she can take a better look. “Rhys, you’re- you got _shot_.”

“What? _Ow_ , what are you-” He looks at her funny for a moment before glancing down to see what she’s poking at. “Oh. Um. Yeah. A little.”

Fiona sits up straight again to level him with a dark look. “What do you mean _a little_? Just- Why the hell didn’t you say somethi-”

She cuts herself off when it hits her. She knows exactly why he didn’t say something. He didn’t want her to worry. Or, more likely, he didn’t want anyone to worry, but probably mostly- maybe _especially_ \- her. Because he knew she’d react like this. It’s written all over his dumb, stupid, _dumb_ face. He’s waiting for it, expecting her to implode on herself any moment now.

Well, she hates to disappoint him, but she has bigger problems than giving him shit for neglecting to practice the most basic form of self preservation. Fiona turns to where Flick is tending to Isabel on the opposite side of the room, waving a hand to get their attention. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have anything for jackasses who got themselves _a little_ shot and then didn’t bother telling anyone about it, do you?”

“Afraid not,” Flick replies chipperly as they pull over the first aid kit to dig out a few familiar-looking steel vials. “Seems like a personality issue. Nothing for that except therapy. These might help with the physical wound, though.”

They toss the two vials in her direction one at a time so Fiona can catch them before they return to their own task. Fiona sets the MEND-27 containers to the side, brushing her bangs back from her face and facing Rhys again with a huff.

“You’re going to have to actually get undressed now, at least from the waist up,” she tells him. And then she raises an eyebrow. “You need my help with that too or are you good?”

Rhys blanches at that, clearly caught off guard, which is way more satisfying than it ought to be. After floundering mutely for a minute, he finally chokes out, “I-I think I’m good, thanks?”

His face only gets redder as he unzips the back of his bodysuit and pulls his arms out to push it down until it’s all bunched up around his hips. Fiona nudges his left arm until he gets the idea and lifts it up out of the way while she more closely examines his side. Thankfully, it only turns out to be a graze, and not a very serious one at that. It’s bleeding a little, but it’s more seepy than gushy. Using the vials on it probably isn’t even strictly necessary, but they already have them and she’s sure the scrape itself doesn’t feel too great, so she uncaps one anyway to start spraying the mist at the wound.

Rhys slowly relaxes as she works, which helps some. The vial isn’t empty by the time the graze closes up into a pinkish welt that she’s pretty sure won’t even leave a scar, so she gestures for him to lean forward so she can use the rest on the gash on his forehead he got back in the hotel. It’s a bit uglier than the one on his side was, so maybe she should have done this one first. The mist runs out before the slash is completely healed over, still pretty red and cutting deep into his right eyebrow, but it looks a lot better than it did. And significantly less painful.

“I think we might end up with matching eyebrow scars,” she tells him offhandedly as she recaps the empty container and sets it to the side.

“Oooh, that’ll be cute,” he teases, going to feel for the welt instinctively. “They’ll go with our matching lightning scars. We’re like twins that coordinate their outfits, except, uh, with scars. Scar twins.”

She gives him a dry look. “Please never use the phrase ‘scar twins’ to refer to us ever again.”

After Rhys puts his arms through the sleeves of his undersuit and zips it back up again, he reaches for the remaining vial and carefully takes her right wrist into his hands to spray down all the tiny nicks and cuts across her knuckles. It’s... a surprisingly sweet gesture. Returning the favor and all. He even moves over to her left hand after he’s done with the right to see if maybe the medicine will work on her burns this time around. But just like when Isabel tried it, nothing happens. She gets this faint, itchy sensation that she knows won’t go away even if she scratches at it, but that’s about it. Fiona waves him off before he can waste the rest of it and takes the vial from him to go give it to Flick, who nods appreciatively and starts tugging their pant leg up to use it on the laceration across their knee. She wanders back over to where Rhys is still sitting and sinks down next to him again, this time on his right side instead of on his left.

“So,” Fiona starts as she leans back against the wall and folds her arms over her chest, turning her head to consider him thoughtfully. “Are you going to tell me what the hell happened to you or am I just supposed to guess?”

He gets this little dimple in his cheek like he’s trying his damndest not to smile. “I mean, I don’t know. You guessing sounds kind of fun.”

Scoffing, she smacks him across the shoulder with the back of her hand. “Don’t be cute with me. I was really worried, Rhys. I thought I was going to have to stay behind and drag your ass out of whatever mess you’d managed to get yourself into. I was... scared. You know, for you. And stuff.”

“And stuff?” he echoes, a twinkle of amusement in his eye.

She nods sagely. “And stuff.”

He does smile then, just a little, just enough for her heart to do this weird little flip-flop in her chest. And then he sighs and sits back next to her, thumbing idly along the hem of his sleeve. “Well, I... got caught. Sort of. When I was finding that alternate route for you guys, one of the other guards started watching me. I guess he figured out something was up when he saw I was scrolling through all the blueprints for the building. I left as soon as I was done but he followed me, cornered me, _shot_ me-” Rhys nods down towards his left side, “-and I thought I was done for so I, uh. I played dead.”

Wow. Just coming right out and admitting to using a tactic that has never panned out in the history of forever. “Did that actually work?”

“Nope,” he asserts matter-of-factly. Color her unsurprised. “But I did kick his feet out from under him when he was standing over me trying to shoot me again, which I wish you could have seen. It was pretty badass, Fi. I think you would have been proud.”

She has to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Oh, I’m sure.”

“I’m serious! He hit his head when he went down and everything, just-” Rhys makes this vague hand motion she’s not sure really conveys anything meaningful, “- _smack_. Out like a light. I stashed him in some side office before making my way down to you guys and, well, you know the rest.”

Huh. Well, it sounds like he got lucky more than anything else, but... she’s really glad he’s okay. Even if he still hasn’t justified why he didn’t bother saying anything about what happened over the comms. That, she’s still pretty pissed about. Enough to slap him on the arm again in irritation.

“ _Ow_ ,” he gripes with a scoff. Oh, as if she even hit him that hard. What a baby. “What was _that_ for?”

“Because you still could have at least explained what was going on over the radio, you ass!”

She goes to swat at him again but he blocks the blow, catching her wrist to hold her off. “Um, maybe I didn’t do that because my stupid helmet... clasp... thingy... just, _whatever_ \- it fell off when I got knocked down and that douchebag stepped on it? I had to swap mine out for his and I couldn’t figure out how to rejoin the private network we were in because his settings were all different, so. It wasn’t my fault, okay? Please stop hitting me now.”

Well, now she _has_ to keep hitting him. Solely because he asked her not to. Fiona brings up her free hand to strike him square in the middle of his chest, and then she does it again when he’s too slow to catch her. Eventually, he gets _really_ mad and just gathers her up into his arms, squeezing her against him so tight that she can barely even breathe.

“ _Ugh_ , you- What are you _doing_?” Fiona wheezes out, squirming around in his grasp as he does his best to crush the life out of her. “God, Rhys, just- Get _off_!”

“ _No_ ,” he imitates her whiny tone back at her as he hefts her up closer and buries his face in her hair. “You better get aaall that energy out now because I’m not letting go until you stop being an asshole. You can’t hit me if I’m hugging you.”

“Oh, you wanna bet?” She thrashes around to free her arms but _dammit_ , he’s right. She’s trapped in his surprisingly strong embrace, doomed to flail about like a dumbass until she wears herself out. Huffing, she cranes her neck around to make sure he sees her sulk. “I hate you.”

He gives her this really flat look, one eyebrow raised. “Do you, though?”

She hesitates, pretending to think about it just to mess with him. And then she blows out a heavy breath, letting all the tension leave her body at once. “No, but you make it kind of hard not to when you pull shit like this.”

That, for whatever reason, makes him laugh. Which in turn makes Fiona laugh, because his giggles are always so stupidly dorky that she can never stop herself from joining in. Maybe it’s the exhaustion finally pushing them to delirium, or maybe it’s just the desperate relief at even having made it through the impossibly stressful shitshow that was the entirety of tonight. But whatever it is, they keep laughing at each other in a vicious little cycle until their faces ache from the effort of it and they both have tears in their eyes.

And when they’re finally winding down some, his left hand finds her cheek. He’s closer than he was before, _so_ much closer, his eyes all brown and gold and sincere as he watches her like she’s something to marvel at, like he’s just now seeing her for the very first time.

So. Suffice to say, she’s completely screwed.

It doesn’t happen like it did in the alley. It’s not unexpected, they both see it coming from a mile away and neither one of them does a damn thing to stop it. Rhys leans forward and just barely- _barely_ \- touches his lips to hers for a fraction of a second before drawing back again like he’s making sure this is okay in the first place. And that’s her chance to put an end to it, to back the hell up and shut this down before he winds up ripping her heart out and stomping all over it.

But she doesn’t take it. Because damn it all to hell anyway. There’s no going back after this.

Fiona pulls herself up to meet him halfway, letting her eyes slide shut and pressing her lips against his. It’s slow this time around, no frantic need to express something she can’t put into words and no jarring noises to break them apart. Rhys lets out this soft breath like he’d been holding onto it for a while, inhaling shakily as he brings up his hands to cup both sides of her face, just under her jaw. And god, he’s being _gentle_. So, so unbearably gentle that she can hardly stand it. Fiona sighs heavily against his mouth and backs up enough to tilt her head the other way and try again, fisting her fingers even deeper into the front of his suit and biting down experimentally on his bottom lip.

He makes this noise in the back of his throat that stirs something _bad_ beneath her ribcage.

This... feels wrong, she realizes. This isn’t how this was supposed to happen. This shouldn’t even be happening at all.

Someone _else_ , remember? Not her. Never her.

Guilt seethes from the darkest reaches of her heart and forces her backwards, away from Rhys, and she sits up to bring a hand up to her lips like it might suddenly come overflowing up her throat and out of her mouth too. Shit. Goddammit. _Shit_. She was caught up in the moment, forgetting for a split second that this was never about her. She’s just his substitute, his temporary replacement while he mourns the loss of whoever it was he had back home. At best, she’s only his rebound girl, and at worst, well.

At worst, he just feels bad for her. And she doesn’t know which one she hates the idea of more.

“Fi,” Rhys says her name slowly, haltingly, and she drops her head into her hands.

“I can’t,” she tells him brokenly. “Not like this. Not with you.”

He falls chillingly silent. A minute passes, and then two, before he eventually murmurs, “You can’t keep doing this to me.”

She doesn’t look up from studying the lines of the grid pattern on the floor beneath her feet. “Doing what?”

“Just... _this_. Whatever it is that you’re doing right now. Getting close only to push me away again and not even telling me why. You have to stop. Okay? You’re just- I’m not- I don’t know if I can-” He pauses briefly to take a shaky breath before continuing, “I can’t keep doing this, Fiona. I just can’t.”

And there it is again. That note of something sad and heavy in his voice. She still can’t wrap her head all the way around it, just- why he even _does_ that when he has to know how hard this is for her already. Is it out of spite? Or bitterness? Does he resent her for trying to keep a safe buffer of distance between them instead of rolling over and taking his stupid, selfish shit? Or is he just vexed that she’s doing such a crappy job of that to begin with?

Fiona sighs and scoots to the far end of the bench to lean up against the wall on her right. None of that sounds even remotely like Rhys. It sounds like _her_ , like the way she would probably feel if she was in his position. Plus, she’s seen him angry before; all clenched fists and gritted teeth and words sharp enough to slice her down to ribbons. And _this_ , whatever it is, is about as far away from angry as he can get.

She sags wearily under the weight of it all, closing her eyes and turning her head away. “I’m sorry.”

Rhys sighs, long and deep, but doesn’t say anything else, and the silence that descends between them is so smothering that Fiona feels like she’s choking on it.

Sleep finds her shockingly easily after that, even despite the fact that she’s still sitting upright. And also the harrowing regret and guilt and overall sense of torment gnawing at her bones and threatening to consume her from the inside out. Her dreams are still painful, but they’re vague and sporadic, the nonstop insanity from today finally catching up with her and pushing her towards the deepest end of unconsciousness where even the worst of her nightmares can barely reach.

When she wakes up again, the ship is going down.

It takes a minute for her to fully snap out of her bleary, just-waking-up state, but she’s on her feet in a heartbeat once she does. Alarms screech left and right and the lights in the cabin flash bright red as several pop ups on the windshield HUD obscure the view of deep space outside. Some of them are too small for her to make out from here, but she can read the most important ones, like _ENGINE CORE TEMPERATURE CRITICAL_ and _PLANETARY IMPACT IMMINENT_.

Well. Shit. That’s probably not good.

“What the hell is going on?” Fiona demands as she steps closer to where Ezra is still sitting in front of the controls.

Rhys- who’s already standing next to Ezra and trying fruitlessly to help- doesn’t offer her an answer. The kid, however, clears their throat from where they’re standing a little ways off to the side next to Isabel, who’s half sitting up on the bench and looking on in concern.

“The engine’s overheating,” Flick explains weakly, adjusting their grip on where they’re holding their cat close in their arms. “We’re going to crash unless we do something.”

Well, yeah, she kind of already gathered that from all the warnings on the HUD. Fiona rolls her eyes and steps closer to the dash to get Rhys’ and Ezra’s attention. “Someone want to tell me how this happened?”

“Um,” Ezra starts, laughing anxiously like this is absolutely all his fault. “When I- When I set the ship to silent running, I... didn’t realize that would shut off the engine cooling systems too. So I didn’t engage the heat sinks. Or do anything else to deal with that issue. But don’t worry,” he continues quickly when he sees the muted terror that’s probably written all over her face, “we’re going to fix it. Everything’s going to be juuust fi-”

Something that sounds suspiciously like part of the ship exploding interrupts him, rocking the ground they’re standing on so hard that she, Flick, and Rhys are all nearly knocked off their feet.

“Never mind,” Ezra says as the three of them right themselves and smoke starts to drift in from a vent somewhere. He laughs again, borderline hysterical. “We are all definitely about to die.”

Oh, _that’s_ encouraging.

She looks to Rhys for reassurance, but he only brings up a hand to rub at his forehead before slowly dragging his palm down his face. Seriously? Are neither one of them even going to try?

Fiona huffs and moves forward to stand at the center console on the opposite side of Ezra, swiping at the holographic display of the HUD to push all the windows and warnings out of the way. They’re headed straight for a large, mostly green and blue planet that she assumes to be Decima based on what the HUD is telling her. They’re not close enough for it to fill their entire view of the space around them yet, but the speedometer shows that they’re traveling at over thirty megameters a second. So she’s... guessing it won’t be long before it does? She’s not sure how fast that is, exactly, but it does sound pretty damn fast.

She chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment, brainstorming. But her knowledge of spacecrafts is minimal beyond the very basics she learned when she piloted their bootleg caravan rocket up to Helios. She thinks Rhys would have a better idea of what to do in this situation- he used to live on a space station, after all- but he’s just leaning up against the control module with both hands and letting his head hang low in defeat.

“Let me try,” Isabel suddenly says from behind all of them, and everyone turns around to see her staggering her way up to her feet with a grimace.

Flick and Ezra exchange a look before Ezra turns around in the chair to face her dubiously. “Are you sure?”

She shrugs with one shoulder, limping over as Ezra stands to let her sit in his place. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not willing to sit around and wait to meet my own fiery death. Not after everything we’ve been through to get this far. Doing nothing isn’t an option, and I don’t see anyone else volunteering. So, if you all want to be cowards, fine. Just stay out of my way.”

Ouch. Snippy. She has a point though, so nobody feels inclined to argue. After taking a moment to get a little more familiar with what’s in front of her- lightly running her fingers over the controls and experimenting briefly with the HUD- she hunkers down and sets to work. A lot of it still seems to be hit or miss, adjusting controls and changing them back as the ship rattles and chugs and speeds down towards the planet. But she eventually finds the sweet spot between managing the overheating engine and keeping enough control to take them in at an appropriate angle for a glide, dropping them out of supercruise and into orbital flight once they begin to enter the atmosphere.

Isabel disengages the autopilot and takes over the control wheel as the HUD flashes another round of warnings across the screen. She dismisses them with a flick of her hand, but not before Fiona can catch that the landing gear is apparently damaged. So even _if_ Isabel can guide them towards the ground slowly enough that they won’t immediately blow up on impact, a regular, safe landing is clearly out of the question.

That’s the least of their worries now, though, since right as she thinks that, another explosion blows through the ship’s engine and sends them all skidding across the floor. Fiona just barely avoids smacking her face against the ground by landing hard on her elbows, and Flick somehow ends up right beside her with their cat still in their grasp. She makes sure the kid’s okay before pushing herself back up to her feet again, only to see that the blast has sent them spiraling into a freefall.

They’re lucky the ship’s artificial gravity is still functioning, otherwise they’d all be getting thrown across the cabin right now. It’s _deafeningly_ loud, from all the alarms still blaring to the sound of the engine finally giving out. Isabel is flipping switches and jerking at the control wheel to right them again, or at least orient their angle so they’re not coming in so steep, but she can’t get enough force behind it. They’re in a nosedive straight towards the lush, green earth that’s drawing closer with every passing second and there’s nothing they can do to stop it.

No, she corrects herself, not _nothing_. Fiona leaps forward to grab onto the wheel and _yank_ alongside Isabel. But it won’t budge, dammit, not even a little. They don’t have time for this. They don’t have _time_. They’re going to smash right into the side of the planet and explode into a million itty-bitty pieces if they don’t get this stupid, shitty ship pulled _up_ , so just- _come on_ , goddammit!

Flick suddenly appears in the space under her arm and grabs onto the wheel too, straining backwards with all their might. Rhys runs over to pitch in from the other side and Ezra joins in alongside him. The five of them heave and twist and _pull_ with everything they have and then some, sweaty, sore hands overlapping and slipping over each other as the wheel slooowly starts to pull up inch by agonizing inch.

But it’s still not enough. They break through the tops of the trees, and for one moment, everything is the most beautiful shade of green.

Time stutters to a stop. She casts one last, desperate glance over at Rhys to find he’s looking at her too. And green turns into gold and gold turns into green and she wishes, god, she _wishes_ she could go back, that she could do something different, that the last thing they said to each other wasn’t what it was.

Isn’t that always the way.

They hit the ground, and it all fades to black.

But it doesn’t stay that way for long.

Some things get through to her. Flashes of color, of sound. Metal creaking and groaning and _scraping_ against itself, the frantic cries of someone calling out for someone else. The smell of fire burning, of smoke and ash. The feeling of sunlight shining in from somewhere and falling softly across her face.

Her eyes fly open and she bolts straight upright with a gasp, sending a cloud of dust and debris up in a plume around her.

She’s... not dead?

_She’s not dead._

Fiona has to take a minute to blink away her disbelief at that mind-boggling revelation.

She rasps out a cough after another moment, wheezing when she tries to take a breath and all she inhales is smoke. She’s still in the cabin of the ship, having been thrown to the back of the room from the staggering force of their impact, but her surroundings are almost completely unrecognizable from before. The whole place is practically falling apart, pieces of the walls hanging loose or just missing altogether to expose the metal bones of the ship and severed, crispy wires that are throwing off sparks. She can just barely make out the front windshield through the haze of the fumes, cracked and splintered on the left side while the right is lying in shards all over the floor. There’s no sign of anyone else either, it’s just her and the smoldering wreckage, so after checking herself over to make sure she’s not mortally wounded or anything like that, Fiona clambers her way up to her feet and starts searching.

Picking through the rubble is grueling work, especially when her entire body already hurts as much as it does. It’s a little hard to breathe as she lifts up the steel sheets that used to cover the walls and kneels down to peer underneath. She only manages to get through two piles before she starts feeling wobbly and lightheaded, and since she still hasn’t found a trace of anybody, she stumbles towards the broken windshield. She’ll come back and keep looking, but right now, she _needs_ to get out of here. This fog is too dense to breathe through. She just needs a few gulps of fresh air to clear her head.

She does her best to brush away the razor-sharp glass off the dashboard before climbing up to pull herself through the gap. Once she’s out, she’s assaulted by bright, _hot_ sunlight too harsh to squint through. She raises an arm to shield her face from it as she draaags herself up along the hood, eyes watering and wondering how the hell they even landed at an upwards angle instead of down. It’s like trying to climb the side of a small mountain one-handed when there’s not even any protruding edges or grooves for her to grab on to.

It’s hell, basically. Hot, sweaty, physically excruciating hell.

Fiona winds up sliding back down to the bottom again twice before finally kicking herself high enough to catch herself on one of the vents. It takes an exorbitant amount of effort, but after a lot of huffing and puffing, she gets herself pulled up so she can sit on the grate over the outlet, allowing herself a brief reprieve to catch her breath before taking a peek over the tip of the front of the ship.

Everything’s... green. And yeah, she means _everything_. Except the sky, which is blue but with this weird, purpley tinge to it that doesn’t look quite right. But everything else? Deep, saturated, emerald ass _green_.

Trees range as far as she can see in all directions. Wide, _massive_ trees, so tall she has to tilt her head back to even see the tops. They’re crowded so densely together that it’s hard to tell where one ends and another begins, with the exception of the little clearing they landed in the middle of. Or, actually, they’re probably responsible for that. It was likely just as green and lush before they came crashing down through the canopy in a blaze of... definitely not glory. Maybe something more like furor. Or just downright terror.

“ _Hey_!” a voice suddenly rings out, making her jump and almost lose her balance. “What the heck do you think you’re doing?”

Once she’s sure she’s not about to slide from her precarious position on the vent, Fiona gazes down to locate the source of the shout. And there, on the ground, standing with their hands fisted at their hips and looking very disappointed in her, is Flick. Dirty and bruised and battered, maybe, but still alive and in one piece.

“Stop staring at me slack-jawed and get _down_ from there!” the kid calls out to her again as she breathes a deep, _shuddering_ sigh of relief. “You’re going to fall!”

Oh, please. As if she would let that happen. Rolling her eyes, Fiona leans out some to tell them, “You worry too much.”

“What?” Flick yells back, apparently not having heard her.

“I _said_ ,” she starts again, stretching out a little farther and raising her voice, “I’m not! Going! To fa-”

Her foot slips and she pitches forward off the side of the ship, plummeting down and landing in the dirt at Flick’s feet with a hard _thud_.

“...Fall,” she finishes miserably.

The kid sighs. Fiona tries- and mostly fails- to drag in a painful breath as her entire body starts to _throb_ , pushing herself up on her elbows and trying to spit out all the mud that just got in her mouth. Flick kneels down to hold out a hand for her to take once she’s ready, helping her up to her feet and quickly checking her over for anything broken before leaning back again when they’re satisfied.

“Why didn’t you just slide off the edge by the window?” they wonder, and when she just blinks at them, confused, they nod back towards the wreck of the ship behind her. The gap she exited from is much lower to the ground than the vent she’d managed to climb up to- no more than a short hop down, really- which she might have realized if she’d bothered looking around when she came crawling out of the ship.

But she hadn’t. Which isn’t _all_ her fault, okay, the goddamn sun was in her eyes and she was slowly suffocating on all the smoke so excuuuse her for not putting sightseeing higher on her list of priorities. God.

She turns back to Flick with what feels like a very petulant frown. “Because.”

“Because... why?” they needle her. “Because you’re dumb and didn’t notice?”

“No.”

“Because you’re _stupid_ and didn’t notice?”

“ _No_.”

“Oh, wait, I know.” They nod to themselves shrewdly, folding their arms over their chest. “Because you’re an idiot and didn’t noti-”

Fiona cuts them off by using a hand to muss up their already frizzy, disheveled hair, putting enough force behind it that it might as well be a noogie. They protest with a sharp, “ _Hey_!” and back up out of her reach to stomp their foot and glower up at her like they’re trying to be scary, to which she can only shake her head.

“Where is everyone?” she asks as they give up on trying to intimidate her and furiously finger-comb their tangled locks, tugging out the braids still loosely sectioned off along their scalp. “I didn’t find anyone else inside. They make it out okay?”

The kid nods as they stick one of their hair ties between their teeth to hold onto it while they gather their hair at the nape of their neck. “Yeah, mostly. Issa just needed help getting out but Bernice hit his head when we landed like you.”

Like her? Huh. Well, that explains why she blacked out for a while. Unusual, since it’s normally Rhys that sustains enough blows to the head for the both of them. Maybe they really are scar twins. Or... wound twins. Injury twins? Whatever.

“He was out cold,” Flick continues, pulling her attention back from that really weird train of thought as they finish tying their hair back. “So I had to drag him out of there. And then I came back to get you only to find that you were trying to do Cirque du Soleil all up in the smoking wreckage of the ship or whatever.” They pat her once on the shoulder all fake reassuringly. “You should leave the acrobatics to the experts from now on. Sound good?”

Fiona’s about to retort with something really smart and witty, but she doesn’t even get the first word out before a minor explosion from behind them makes them both jump. A loose portion of the framework goes flying from the force of it and a large chunk of the ship itself collapses, crashing down onto the ground in a cloud of dirt and smoke.

They both silently watch the debris settle until Fiona says, “We should probably go before the whole thing blows up.”

Flick nods in agreement. “Good idea.”

The kid takes the lead as they head towards the side of the clearing and into the thick underbrush. Fiona didn’t really notice before just now but it’s astonishingly hot out here- and not just hot but _humid_. Sweat starts forming over every inch of her almost instantly, running down her forehead and collecting uncomfortably at the small of her back. She pushes her sleeves up but that does little to help matters, and even Flick yanks their hair tie out again to regather the strands higher up to keep them from sticking to their neck.

And the vegetation is so _dense_. Thorny vines and spiky ferns in all directions, and this spongy-looking moss covering just about every surface from the ground beneath their feet to the trunks and branches of the trees. Picking their way through it all is slow going- not to mention exhausting- and by the time they come up on this tiny, circular grove in the middle of five enormous trees, they’re both struggling to catch their breath.

Ezra and Isabel are sitting side by side at one end of the clearing while Rhys has been carefully arranged on his back at the other. He’s still unconscious by the looks of it, and Fiona tries to ignore the hard squeeze her heart gives as she drifts over to kneel down by his side. She assumes the kid has probably already checked him over for any serious damage but she does her own examination anyway, running light fingers across all his bumps and bruises from the crash before finally sitting back on her heels with a sigh.

Other than some mostly harmless scrapes and dried blood caked across his skin here and there, there’s nothing else visibly wrong with him. He’s just... very unconscious. And won’t wake up no matter how hard she nudges at his shoulder. So that’s worrying, especially since the last time this happened he was asleep for two goddamn days.

“Veronaaa,” Flick’s voice carries across the little glade before she can get herself too worked up, and to which she can only roll her eyes. So. She guesses they’re back to the weird nickname thing again. She wonders if they have a list of rhymes and close rhymes or something, and what they plan on doing when they inevitably run out. Because clearly, calling her by her real name is out of the question save for cases of extreme duress.

Fiona stands when she looks over to see the kid beckoning her closer to where they, Ezra, and Isabel are all discussing something amongst themselves. Or, well, where they and Ezra are discussing something, while Isabel appears to be... out of commission for the moment. She has her legs pulled up and her face buried into her knees, teeth chattering and trembling helplessly like it’s freezing out here instead of being, like, a gazillion and one degrees.

Ezra rubs her back soothingly as Fiona takes a seat near them, and she notices that there’s this... crack? Across his right iris? And then she remembers, right, his weird, cybernetic contact thingy. Where it once blended in seamlessly before, it now sticks out like a sore thumb. It must have gotten damaged somehow- maybe when they crashed?- and rather than speaking to her verbally, Ezra opts to sign something for Flick to translate for him instead.

“It’s been a really long day for all of us,” the kid starts, “and the last thing anyone needs right now is to be pushed even harder, but it’s not safe for us to stay here. We’re too close to the wreckage of the ship and if Orcus sends out Pathfinders to look for us, it won’t be hard for them to locate it. We have to keep moving, just for a little while, and find somewhere more protected and out of the way so we can all- so we can all-”

Flick makes this face like they don’t know what he’s trying to convey, so Ezra shakes his head and says himself, “So we can all rest and recover. Really, Flick, those aren’t hard signs to remember. Or did you just forget how to pronounce the wor-”

The kid cuts him off by smacking him lightly across the chest, scowling and signing as they speak so he can still understand, “I know the signs, jerkwad, you were just doing them too fast. I keep telling you I’m rusty.”

“Well, you know how bad I am at listening,” Ezra replies with a rather stale look, lips pursed like he’s trying not to smile.

Flick rolls their eyes, making that distinctive noise of exasperation in the back of their throat that’s usually only reserved for bad jokes and puns. They go to bat at him again, on the shoulder this time, only for him to catch their wrist and deliver a quick peck to their knuckles with a lopsided smirk.

So. Fiona supposes they must have resolved whatever weird issue they had going on between the three of them over Isabel’s unfortunate state and the kid evidently blaming Ezra for it. Probably while she was sleeping on the ship, or maybe even shortly after they crashed. But, more importantly, she’s a little curious about these Pathfinders. She doesn’t know what they are, exactly, since she’s never heard the term before, but if they’re associated with Orcus, then they can’t be anything good.

But. Wait a minute. Didn’t they take care of the potential issue of being followed when Ezra blew up their base?

“Hey,” Fiona pipes up to get the pair’s attention, addressing Ezra with a raised eyebrow. “I thought you said you destroyed all their ships? And the whole... AION Network thingy. Or the servers. Whatever. But if that’s all gone, then who’s left to come after us?”

Ezra shakes his head once Flick finishes translating what she said, lapsing back into sign for his explanation. But the kid isn’t paying attention, turning back to Fiona to say for themselves, “Okay, just so you know, calling it the ‘AION Network thingy’ makes you sound really dumb.”

Fiona frowns. “I don’t-”

“Like, _really_ dumb,” they continue over her as they very dutifully ignore how Ezra is trying to retake control of the discussion. “Because first off, you don’t have to tack on ‘network’ at the end. It’s already in the acronym. The Automated Interchange and Observation Network. AION. Not AION Network. That’s like saying the Network Network. It’s stupid.”

Sighing, Fiona brings up a hand to massage her temple in an attempt to shoo away the headache that’s already forming. “I don’t think it’s humanly possible for me to express how much I don’t care.”

“Well, you should,” they quip back with a huff. “I’m sure someone worked really hard coming up with what words the letters stood for and making sure they still made sense on their own while also adequately describing what the AION is supposed to be.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. And why do _you_ care so much about it?”

The kid just blinks for a moment. “I don’t... know?”

Before they can dive further into what the point was behind that really odd tangent, Ezra apparently decides he’s had enough of being disregarded and left out of the conversation. He waves his hands to get her and Flick’s attention, folding his arms over his chest and saying somewhat poutily, “Yes, hello, hi. I believe I was answering Fiona’s question? I did, in fact, destroy the AION server facilities and all of the Division’s flight-capable fighters, but they still have a few non-combat crafts that they could use to launch a search mission. Our biggest concern was getting all the way here without being caught in a deep space firefight, and I only had so many charges to go around. I... also didn’t want to cause more deaths than was already strictly necessary. I know it sounds strange given everything Orcus has done to us, but...”

Ezra trails off like he’s not sure how to justify it, but Fiona thinks she understands. The kid, however, snorts humorlessly, cocking their head to the side to treat him with a disbelieving look as they sign along with their words. “Are you kidding? Blowing up their dumb ships would have been the _least_ you could have done after they rounded up over half the movement and threw us in little torture chambers to beat us all to death.”

Ezra lets out a slow breath, signing something to Flick that Fiona doesn’t understand because he doesn’t say it out loud, but Flick shakes their head in response.

“I had to listen to it, Ezra,” they tell him, hands moving faster and eyebrows drawing low in solemnity. “I had to listen to- to everybody scream and cry and _die_ around me, knowing that I was next. It wasn’t quick. It wasn’t even dignified. I didn’t know any of them like you and Issa did but I know that they didn’t deserve to go through that. So I really don’t get how you can just... sit there and tell me that- that-”

“Because it wouldn’t have made a difference, Flick,” Ezra says quietly as he reaches out to take their shaking hands into his. “Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

“It’s not about what’s right,” they argue weakly, clearly rattled just from talking about what happened down beneath the headquarters. “It’s about them getting what they deserve.”

They can’t sign the words for Ezra since he’s still holding onto their fingers, but Fiona thinks he gets the gist judging by the soft expression on his face that’s tense but... sympathetic. She can’t really say she agrees with them on this point either, but she does sort of see where they’re coming from. If she squints. And maybe tilts her head to the side a little. She’s not so sure any one of them is in a place to be delivering judgement to such a large, powerful, and morally defunct organization, but the desire to get even is not one that’s unfamiliar. It’s a ruthless implication, but after everything she’s heard and seen for herself, maybe being ruthless isn’t totally uncalled for.

Either way, Fiona leaves those two to have the rest of that conversation in private. She wanders back over to sit by Rhys, idly brushing at the soot staining his face and chewing on the inside of her cheek in worry until the kid whistles to get her attention and lets her know they’re getting ready to go.

Flick hops up to their feet to start sorting through the small pile of bags Fiona completely neglected to notice until just now. The backpacks clearly belong to the kid, while the duffels bear a striking resemblance to the ones that Ezra had packed in the back of his car in Fides. Fiona even spots the one that has her and Rhys’ regular clothes in it as Flick passes it off to Ezra so he can sling it over his shoulder. She assumes most have supplies in them, otherwise they probably wouldn’t have bothered recovering them from the wreck of the ship, so at least that means they’re not lost out here in the middle of nowhere totally unprepared. A small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

Ezra works on persuading Isabel up to her feet while Flick gets their backpacks appropriately situated, calling out for Lucky- _Lucky_ , Fiona realizes with a start, the goddamn cat must have survived the crash too- until he weaves his way back into the clearing from the deep, dark depths of the trees. She’s happy to see the cute little furball made it, looking as orange and tiny and downright adorable as ever. The kid scoops him up off the forest floor, adjusting the wide collar of their shirt and stretching it out to stick him right in the front under their chin. It’s loose enough for him to fit in there comfortably, the extra fabric supporting his weight enough for him to curl up and have his nose just barely poking up over the top.

“That,” Fiona starts as Flick walks over, reaching out to scratch gently at the cat’s ears, “is the freaking cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Well, second cutest.”

“Thanks,” Flick says, still looking somewhat... well, sad, which is an odd look for them, but managing to grin toothily at the compliment like a proud parent. “It’s really hot and his breath smells bad but he’s worth the discomfort.”

After quickly coming to the consensus that there’s no way in hell anybody here is strong enough to carry Rhys, Fiona takes it upon herself to be the one to drag him along. She’s done it before, dammit- and with two cracked ribs to boot!- so it should be a piece of cake this time around. Especially given the perfectly healthy and totally not dangerously fatigued state she’s in right now. Not to mention the easily navigable environment sprawling out in a maze all around them.

So. Yeah.

Needless to say, pulling him along blows. Hard.

But, as it turns out, Isabel can’t move much faster than Fiona can with Rhys in tow, even though Ezra and Flick are supporting her from both sides. So she guesses everything works itself out in its own weird, special way.

They trek on for what feels like hours- but in all probability isn’t even more than one- before they stumble across the sound of running water coming from somewhere nearby. They’re all drenched in sweat and edging on dehydrated so a fresh water source is a commodity none of them are willing to pass up. They follow the noise until they find a trickling river that leads up to a shallow cave big enough for all five of them. The entrance is even camouflaged by a bunch of hanging vines and creeping ivy, which is exactly the kind of sneaky hideout they’re looking to hole up in. While it looks like it might have been some kind of animal den in the past from all the old, dusty bones everywhere, it’s very obviously been abandoned for some time now and thus is probably safe enough to use.

So they decide to call it, since they likely won’t find anything better than this and they’re all dead on their feet anyway. Making camp mostly involves everyone finding a spot and sitting in it, Ezra and Flick staying close to Isabel in the very back of the cave while Fiona arranges Rhys along the wall closer to the mouth. The kid rolls a big thermos of water over to her after a minute that she accepts gratefully, taking a looong drink before turning to Rhys and carefully parting his lips to dribble some of the liquid into his mouth too. She has no idea how long he’s going to be out for, so it’s best to play it safe. The last thing they need is another sick person to take care of.

Once she thinks he’s had enough, she sets the container to the side and leans back against the wall by his head with a sigh. She just watches him for a while, listening to the odd chirps and squeals of the insects buzzing around outside and, at one point, reaching over the play with a disobedient piece of his hair. It’s sticking, like, straight up, and no matter how much she tries to smooth it down, it just goes right back to how it was.

She’s abruptly reminded of those first few days after the Vault, when he was knocked out like this and showed no sign of waking up. Two days he was asleep, and he didn’t snore, didn’t even so much as _twitch_ the entire time. She’d been scared then, and hell, she’s scared now too. But he’s a little responsive this time around when she trails her fingers down the planes of his face, his eyebrows creasing together just the tiniest bit as she pokes at the side of his nose and pinches him lightly on the cheek. So there’s hope yet, she thinks. It’s just a waiting game.

Unfortunately, she’s never been very good at those. She tries to distract herself but, uh, they’re in an icky cave, so there’s not a whole hell of a lot of options on that front. All she can think about is Rhys, and the more she tries not to, the more she _does_ , so she ultimately gives up on that endeavor altogether to simply regard him as he snoozes away.

And, eventually, she starts to feel bad for how he’s just lying flat on the dusty ground like that without even so much as a rock under his head for support. He’s so deeply asleep she doubts it’s bothering him any, but that really can’t be comfortable. After some deliberation, she thinks, screw it, and moves closer to lift his head up and wiggle her leg under his neck. There. And if she’s not mistaken, Rhys sighs minutely, some of the tension in his face melting away as she gently brushes off some of the dirt caked onto him and sweeps his hair away from his forehead.

Fiona isn’t certain how long Ezra and Flick plan on squatting here, but roughly until Isabel and Rhys are able to move on their own seems like a pretty good guess. A quick glimpse over at the former makes her think that won’t be any time soon though, so Fiona shuts her eyes after a few more minutes of petting Rhys’ head and lets herself doze in and out. When she’s awake, she runs her fingers through his hair and keeps an attentive eye on him as he hibernates, and when she’s asleep, she can still feel the heavy weight of his head in her lap through her fitful dreams. In a way, it’s comforting, just like how she felt warm and safe in his arms those couple nights they slept together back at the hotel. Although she’d be caught dead before she ever admitted to that out loud.

But god, what she wouldn’t give to go back in time to that moment. Everything felt _okay_ then, or, well, as okay as it could. What with the whole being trapped four decades in the future thing and everyone they know probably being dead. And also the fact that entertaining that hesitant physical intimacy was the most greedy thing she’s ever done in the first place.

But it was nice, and they didn’t need to talk about it, both content to just... let it be. Of course, she had to go and screw that all up by kissing him out of some ass-backwards need to express something she doesn’t even understand herself. What she feels for him, or... whatever. Her pathetic little unrequited crush that came out of nowhere and won’t go away no matter how hard she tries to squash it.

And now look at them. Even after aaall that and everything they’ve done just to get here, they’re right back to square one. Gross and dirty and hiding out in some dingy cave with no clue of what they’re going to do next. Sure, this time around they got flung into the universe’s jungly ass crack instead of its unbearably sandy armpit, but it’s still hot as all hell. And as sad as it is, she supposes that’s just about their only solace at this point. That the whole constant state of sweaty anguish thing is still pretty much the same.

The rest of the day passes by in a sticky, humid blur, and bright sunlight turns to twilight and then nighttime in turn much faster than Fiona’s expecting. Instead of taking weeks to rise and then fall again, the sun sinks below the horizon in a matter of hours. So, other than the sweltering weather, Fiona comes to the conclusion that she likes this planet much more than Nona already. A more consistent day and night cycle is going to do _wonders_ for her sleep schedule. Like, yeah, everything else still sucks, but she’s trying to be positive here, okay? This one thing being much closer to her standard of normal is a goddamn victory in her book.

The next time Fiona wakes up, it’s just a little before dawn judging by the modicum of light filtering between the vines hanging over the mouth of the cave. She sits up and stretches from where she’d sort of slumped over in her sleep before noticing that her lap is strangely absent of Rhys’ head. She glances around, blinking and squinting in the low light before finally making out his silhouette closer to the middle of the cavern, apparently having emerged from his coma just fine and without even rousing her from her slumber. He’s sitting cross legged opposite of Flick, both digging around and picking out of familiar plastic baggies full of dried fruit and nuts. The squirrel food, as Rhys so artfully dubbed it.

The kid quickly notices she’s awake, waving her over and passing her a baggie of her own as she takes a seat next to Rhys. She makes it a point to keep some distance between them because things still feel kind of... weird. But she still must have vastly misjudged the distance because she accidentally elbows him in the side when she’s trying to pry open her breakfast.

“Sorry,” she mumbles without looking up, face burning. God. Just be normal, Fiona. Is that too much to ask?

Rhys doesn’t even respond beyond making a sound of acknowledgement, so she can’t tell if it’s awkward or not. The atmosphere between them sure as hell is, lingering around in a fog as they all just eat in silence. But maybe she’s imagining it, or looking for things that aren’t really there out of... she doesn’t know, self-consciousness? It’s not like her to be insecure, but then, this is Rhys she’s talking about. Rhys makes her feel a lot of things she’s not used to feeling in such large amounts. Or even really at all.

So she decides to test the waters, just to prove herself wrong. Because really, they’re both adults. They can be mature about this. And they’re really good friends, aren’t they? They’re not going to let something like this ruin their entire relationship. This isn’t high school.

Although it very well could be, considering how sweaty her palms are getting just from thinking about talking to him. Ugh.

Fiona has to hype herself up for a solid minute, opening her mouth and shutting it again repeatedly before she finally gets the guts to say, “Sooo.”

Rhys turns to her slightly. Or, she thinks he does. The light makes it kind of hard to tell. Maybe he’s just moving around to get comfortable. “What?”

“I, um,” she stutters, taking a deep breath to ground herself before continuing, “I... just wanted to ask if you’re feeling okay. You know, after hitting your head so hard and all. You were out for-”

“About a day,” he finishes for her rather roughly. “Yeah, I know. Flick told me what happened. I’m fine, Fiona. Don’t worry.”

Maybe it’s meant to be placating rather than dismissive, but the way he says it makes her stomach feel like it’s suddenly been filled with lead. Right. So. She wasn’t imagining things after all. It shouldn’t be as surprising as it is; she screwed up enough to destroy their friendship about ten times over- and not just once but _twice_ \- so really, she should have expected this. Regret eats at her, gnawing at her ribs and smoldering in the back of her throat, but she doesn’t apologize or say anything else. She just... tries to act like she usually would, pushing herself to get through the rest of her breakfast until she can’t choke down any more and has to set the bag to the side half-finished.

After she and Rhys are both done with their food, Flick stands up from their spot to go retrieve the bag with all their clothes in it in case they want to get changed. Which is a stupid question, because of course they do. Fiona gathers her things into a pile and walks outside into the foggy predawn while Rhys does the same, and they wordlessly head in opposite directions to give each other a little privacy.

Even in the bad mood she’s precipitously found herself in, shucking off the rest of the armor still stuck to her and stripping out of her undersuit is so liberating that Fiona has to take a moment just to revel in it. It’d be even better if there was a breeze to cool her off some, but naturally the air is just as sticky and stagnant as it was yesterday. So she wipes her gross, sweaty self down as best she can with the fabric of the suit before wadding it up and tossing it to the side.

She grabs her blouse to pull it on over her head and get the tie in the front done up before rolling her sleeves to her shoulders and tugging on her pants. Her boots come next, then her belt and thigh holster, before she finally gets the bracer on her right forearm situated and all laced up. She decides to leave the coat off because really, as nice as it is, it’s waaay too hot to be wearing suede. And what’s up with the snake buckle things, anyway? Are they supposed to be symbolic of something? What would they even represent? Snakes?

Shrugging it off, Fiona reaches for the last and most important piece of her ensemble...

Her hat. Of course.

Ohhh, she’s missed it. It hasn’t even been that long since the kid gave it back and she almost immediately had to take it off again, but she’s missed it so much. She’s really just not complete or fulfilled as a person without it. After brushing it off and popping out a couple dents from where it got crushed in the bag, she places it delicately on her head, tipping the brim forward and back and pushing her bangs out of the way until she’s got it exactly where she wants it. Instantly, everything feels, like, a thousand percent better. Yeahhh, that’s the stuff. If any other forced outfit changes come between her and her hat again, it’ll be too goddamn soon.

Fiona folds up her borrowed uniform and stacks all the armor pieces on top before making her way back towards the cave, only to find Rhys- sans that white tailcoat that actually looked pretty good on him- waiting around for her outside.

“Hey,” he says, to her, in her direction, and also with eye contact. Hands in his pockets all nonchalant-like and sleeves rolled up past his elbows. “Do you, um. Do you want to take a walk? With- With me? Maybe?”

“Uh,” she replies articulately as she steps behind the curtain of vegetation over the mouth of the cave momentarily to drop off the clothes in her arms. And also to stall. “Depends?”

“On what?”

“ _Uh_ ,” she goes again, because she’s stupid and evidently that’s just going to be the first thing out of her mouth every single time she opens it. “If... it’s going to be as weird as the way you just asked that question?”

He pauses as if he has to actually think about that. “I don’t... No? I don’t- I don’t think so? That doesn’t even- What are you asking? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes plenty sense,” she counters automatically as she folds her arms over her chest. “But sure, whatever, I’ll bite. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

He rolls his eyes in a way that could almost pass as normal if everything wasn’t still all... weird and tense between the two of them. “Don’t sound so excited. Nobody likes an eager beaver.”

“Sorry. I’ll try to tone it down.”

Their walk turns out to be a lot more like a hike, with lots of tripping and running into things and plants smacking them in the face left and right. Fiona starts fretting less about what Rhys is even dragging her out here for and more about being consumed by all this uncontrollable overgrowth. This entire place just needs to have a giant weed whacker taken to it, because this? This is just... miserable. It’s a miserable thing to experience. She’s in misery right now.

But, thankfully, it’s not long before it starts to thin out some. She and Rhys stagger into this small glade that’s only borderline strangled by the flora, but different from the rest of the jungle around them in that there’s all these tiny, delicate flowers growing all over the place. There must be hundreds or even thousands of them, growing along the ground and up the trunks of the trees in droves. They’re glowing softly in the faint light of predawn, motes of luminescent, purple dust floating lightly up from the blooms to hang suspended in the air and making the whole grove look like something out of a dream.

It’s... breathtaking, truly. She wonders how Rhys found this, or if maybe he was just lucky enough to run across it when he went to go get changed. Fiona reaches out to brush her fingers against the petals of one of the blossoms on a nearby branch only for it to turn dark all of a sudden and close up shyly at her touch.

Rhys lets out this small breath that might be the beginning of a laugh as she draws back in uncertainty. “I... fell on a bunch when I was getting dressed and they did that too. I guess they don’t like being touched.”

“Oh,” she breathes, glancing back in the direction they came from to see how the ones beneath their feet have withdrawn to leave a trail of darkness in their wake. “They’re still beautiful.”

Rhys responds by turning to lead her further into the little meadow. She sort of just... absently follows him without even really thinking about it, too busy marveling at their surroundings to realize what’s happening until he stops again and spins around to level her with this weirdly serious look.

And then everything hits her like a ton of bricks. The scenery, the flowers, the goddamn _mood lighting_...

Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh _shit_.

“Fi,” he starts off by saying her name with this really heavy note to it, making her stomach heave and twist itself into knots. “There’s... There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you. For, uh, a while now, actually, and- and I think I need to just, you know, come out and say it while we- while _I_ still have the chance.”

She blinks at him. Uh. Okay. False alarm, she thinks. She hereby rescinds all her _oh shits_ because that’s not what she was expecting him to say at all. She was sort of under the impression that he brought her out here to break up with her or... whatever. Put an end to this whole dancing around each other thing they’ve been doing since... well, she’s not really sure when it started, actually.

But since that’s not the case, now she’s just confused. “What do you mean?”

“I- I just-” He sighs, running both hands up his face and then into his hair to smooth it down all the way across the back. “I know things are- are weird right now- like, between us- but I think we need to... talk. About, um, the other night. On the roof.”

Oh.

“And about what happened in the alley yesterday.”

Oh, no.

“And... also on the ship.”

Ohhh, shit. Oh, no, no, no, no, _no_.

Shit. Dammit. This is exactly what she thought it was after all. She rescinds her rescindment of all her _oh shits_ and clenches up instinctively like a turtle trying to hide in its shell. But she’s a person, not a diapsid, so she kind of just... hunches over a little instead, folding her arms in front of her and only barely fighting off the urge to hike her shoulders up around her neck too.

Rhys must misunderstand her change in posture- or maybe he just doesn’t give a shit about her obvious dread and discomfort- because he hurries to continue, “Just- Just to, um, clear the air? Because I don’t- I can’t keep doing this with you. In this way. I hate how we’re just-” he motions vaguely between the two of them, “-like _this_ right now, and I can’t keep guessing and wondering and pretending I’m okay with- with all of-”

“I’m just going to stop you right there,” Fiona interrupts, feeling dangerously close to... some type of emotional meltdown. She’s not sure what kind, exactly, but it feels distinctively pukey. “We don’t have to talk about this, Rhys.”

“Yeah, Fiona, we kind of do,” he retorts. Great. Nice to know he’s not going to spare her feelings in any way, shape, or form whatsoever. “We can’t just keep acting like nothing happened, okay? Because it keeps happening. Over and over and over and we just- we can’t ignore it. _I_ can’t ignore it, not when you still don’t even know exactly how I-”

She shakes her head vigorously, cutting him off. “Let me rephrase; I _don’t_ want to talk about this, Rhys. Please.”

He throws his hands up in exasperation. “Why? Why not? I just- I don’t get why you have to be so... so...”

She makes a face, fisting her hands in the crooks of her elbows. “So what?”

“So like _that_!” he finishes vaguely, scowling. “God, you know- you don’t even get it, do you?”

“Get _what_ , Rhys?”

“That I am so, just-” he takes a breath, “-goddamn-” and lets it out in a frustrated huff, “- _fucking_ in love with you, Fiona-” and laughs, frantically, shaking his head, “-that I would do anything for you, I really would, but the one thing- the- the _one_ thing I can’t keep doing is- is watching you walk away.”

She opens her mouth.

And then closes it.

And then does it again. And a third time.

Her heart thumps and flutters and stops completely dead in her chest.

She.

Just.

 _What_.

Rhys deflates suddenly and all at once, grimacing hard and bringing up a hand to slap his own forehead. “Ugh, that- that was _not_ how I wanted to...”

He falters, trails off, burying his face in his palms and massaging the inner corners of his eyes while Fiona just tries to catch up on what the _fuck_ he just said.

She... She heard him right, didn’t she? Maybe not. No. No, definitely not. He absolutely said something else and she just... misheard him. Yeah, that’s it. It has to be. There’s been a misunderstanding, that’s all, that’s all that’s going on and whatever weird, out of the blue confession of love she thought she heard was a trick of her imagination because there’s nooo freaking way that-

“No, crap, okay, I’m- I’m sticking with it,” he interrupts and sends her train of thought careening right off the rails. “I was- I was kind of planning on, you know, leading up to that, but... yeah. It’s true. I’m in love with you, Fi. And I have been for- for a really long time.”

She can’t move. She can’t breathe. She can’t even _think_.

And Rhys, god, he’s just watching her. Nervous. Expectant. Waiting for a reaction. Face red and shoulders tensed but somehow still relaxed and sure.

“I- I just... I love everything about you,” he says after a minute because _oh_ , he’s not done, laughing softly and shaking his head. Her heart starts beating again to the rhythm of it, _aching_ with the sound. “I love how smart you are, and- and how you always find a way to get things done. And not just that but how you get them done on _your_ terms, always, and in ways no one would ever expect. I love how you don’t take shit from anybody, and maybe especially how you don’t take shit from me. I love- I love-”

“Rhys,” she manages to choke out, surprising both of them.

But he doesn’t stop. He takes a half step closer, and a half step closer, and he doesn’t stop. “I love how strong you are. Um, not physically- I mean, well, yeah, I love that too, obviously. But I meant more like how you always keep going, even when things are hard and any sane person would have just given up. And _loyal_ , god, you- sometimes I worry it’s almost to a fault. You’re- You’re dependable, and trustworthy, and the most badass person I’ve ever met, and if I was ever stuck surrounded by a bunch of people who wanted me dead- which, uh, let’s face it, given our track record so far, that’s probably not outside the realm of possibilities- you’re the first person I’d want to have at my back.”

His words are hitting her like blows, and he watches her fall apart like he can’t bear to look away, like he could never hope to. And he inches closer, and closer, step by step by step and tearing through the distance she’s fought so desperately to keep between them.

He’s like a flash flood she never saw coming, a rising tide to sweep her under. Her lungs are filling up with water and her heart is filling up with _him_ and even she knows that the tallest mountain can be brought to its knees if it rains long and hard enough.

And he’s a downpour with no end in sight.

“I love your smile,” he continues quietly, reaching for her now, fitting his warm fingers between hers, “and the way you laugh at your own terrible jokes. I love how you snore and drool in your sleep and insist that you don’t, and I love that cute little dimple you get between your eyebrows when you’re mad or just thinking about something too hard. And- And I know sometimes we don’t see eye to eye on things, but to tell you the truth, I love that too. You piss me off and make me laugh and turn my entire world upside down whenever I least expect it and I feel like I’m just... a better person because of it. Because of you. And... I know that you, um, probably deserve a lot more- a lot more than _me_ , but-”

And she’s shaking her head, it’s involuntary, but she’s shaking her head because that’s- that’s just- doesn’t he know- hasn’t he _realized_ -

He sighs, shoulders sagging and lips twitching and bringing up his hand to touch his smooth, metal fingertips to the scores of lightning in her cheek. “I guess all I’m trying to say is... I love you, Fi. Which- I, uh. I know I’ve kind of already said about a hundred times now, but, you know. I do. And I know you feel the same. Or, well, um,” he stammers, drawing back some before recovering quickly, “maybe- maybe not _exactly_ the same, but... something. There’s definitely something. I’ve seen it. I see it right now. Plus you... sort of tried to kiss me. That night on the roof. And then actually did kiss me. Twice. So. Unless I’ve totally misread the situation...”

He trails off all meaningfully, cocking his head to the side with this look like he doesn’t think that’s even a remote possibility.

She.

Doesn’t know what to say.

It’s all just... swimming around in her head like brain soup. Or, maybe more accurately, brain _broth_. All mushy and tasteless and like it needs a little salt.

He can’t really mean all that. He can’t. He _can’t_.

...Can he?

She has to admit, it sure as hell sounded like he did. Not even she would have been able to spin a tale that tall and convincing, and she’s been spinning tall and convincing tales her entire life.

But.

“The Vault,” she finally manages weakly, voice raspy and hoarse as she forces the words past the knot still stuck in her throat. “At the Vault, you- you said-”

Rhys gives her a funny look, swiping his thumb over her bottom lip so lightly it makes her shiver. “What... does the Vault have to do with any of this?”

_Whatdoesithavetodowith-_

Fiona blanches, and all she can do for a minute is spit and sputter in a conniption before she finally wiggles her hand out of his to smack him hard on the shoulders. “Because! You said- At the Vault- And there was- Someone _else_!”

He just regards her blankly for a moment like she’s completely lost her mind.

And then the lightbulb goes off.

Horrified realization blooms across his face.

“Oh my god,” he mutters. “Oh my _god_.”

Oh, well, that’s fantastic that he can have an epiphany over something all on his own while she’s just standing here trying not to turn into a puddle. No, really, it’s fine. She can wait.

Okay, she absolutely cannot wait. Fiona baps him on the arms again to snap him out of his trance early and yank his attention back to her. “Oh your god _what_ , Rhys?”

“It was _you_ ,” he groans, tensing, grimacing, squeezing his eyes shut and bringing up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “When I- When I said that, I was talking about you.”

She gapes at him openly, flabbergasted. “You... _what_?”

“Y-Yeah, I, uh,” he stammers. And fidgets. And drops his arm to look pretty much everywhere else except at her. “I thought- I guess it was, uh. I thought you would-”

She reaches up to actually grab him by the shoulders this time, fingers digging painfully deep as she shakes him along with her words. “You used third person! When I was standing! Right! There!”

He sighs heavily. “I know.”

“Why would you- I don’t-” She sounds so stupid, not even able to get out a full sentence past her shock. “ _Me_?”

“You,” he confirms.

“ _Seriously_?”

“Seriously.”

It’s a wonder she doesn’t immediately collapse on the ground from disbelief. She just stares up at him for a few seconds before she starts shaking her head furiously because that’s just- this is just- _No_.

“You’re screwing with me,” she accuses shakily. “You have to be. You _have_ to be. I told you to- to cut that creepy shit out with my sister and you were all, ‘Oooh, don’t worry about it, Fiona, I’m interested in someone else!’ Not me, not Sasha, not that weird ninja guy with the sword- who, honestly, I was half convinced you had a thing for anyway-” Rhys looks a little sheepish at that, which... okay, whatever, moving on, “-just... someone else. You really couldn’t have been more ambiguous if you tried, and you’re only just _now_ telling me that you- that you meant-”

He slaps his own forehead again, rubbing his hand down over his face. “Look, I- I don’t know why I put it like that, okay? I thought it would get the point across and be, shit, I don’t know, cooler? Or something? Or at least not as awkward and embarrassing?”

Cooler. Not as awkward and embarrassing.

What. Even.

Fiona blinks up at him for a moment before she starts throttling him again. But a lot harder this time. And with more feeling. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, you asshole!”

He nods in agreement. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

“I’m going to kill you!”

“I understand completely.”

“Rhys!” She’s practically yelling in his face at this point.

“Yes, Fiona?”

Her mouth is open and it’s all there, all the rage and confusion and incredulity. Because this has to be some kind of trick, right? This isn’t real. It _can’t_ be.

But looking at the way he’s watching her- softly, tenderly, _adoringly_ even though she’s been more or less screaming at him about this instance of extremely questionable word choice for the past couple minutes- something in her snaps all of a sudden. Cracking, bursting, shattering. And she knows, god, she _knows_ in her heart that it’s true. She can feel it deep inside her, in her marrow and her bones, threading through her bloodstream like a storm blowing in from the coast.

She wants to thank him for it, for all the pieces of her lying in shards at their feet.

Because it’s such a sweet thing to be broken by him.

She deflates slowly, lowering herself down flat on her feet again but still keeping her hands fisted in the front of his shirt.

“All this time,” she starts quietly, waveringly. “All the time I thought there was...”

He shakes his head slowly, moving his hands back up to cup her face between his palms. “Only you, Fi. It’s always been you.”

He rubs his thumbs across her cheekbones and it suddenly descends upon them, plain and obvious and impossible to ignore.

This. _This_ is their moment. It’s been an uphill battle from the minute they met to get here, because being around each other hasn’t always been such an easy thing. They were like two shooting stars that should have never crossed paths; too loud, too stubborn, too _bright_ to be able to exist side by side without snuffing the other out. And yet they collided head-on anyway, exploding each other to dust and leaving them to find what was left of themselves in the aftermath.

But they kept climbing. Picked themselves up and brushed themselves off and kept climbing only to fall down over and over again. But they never gave up, not once, not even for a second, forging this moment out of time spent together and time spent apart. And finally- _finally_ \- they’ve reached the summit, the tip of the mountain they’ve been fighting so hard to reach, bloodied and bruised and together.

The abyss below calls to them, hushed and earnest. They waver at the precipice, but they don’t back down, not now, not ever again.

Because third time’s the charm and all that crap.

They meet each other halfway, lips crashing together... maybe a little harder than they mean to. They’re both eager, both _desperate_ to make up for all the other little moments that have passed them by while they faltered backwards out of fear and doubt. But they laugh- at themselves, at each other- and back up to try again, softer this time, because there’s no rush. It’s still a process, but it’s a long awaited one, the two of them gradually relaxing and finding the way they’re supposed to fit together without even really having to try.

And then it starts to pour.

Literally. The sky just opens up and releases this torrential rainfall right on top of them with no warning whatsoever, startling them apart and drenching them to the bone within seconds.

Rhys sighs, long and heavy, water soaking his hair flat and running down his face in a way that makes him look very much like a lost puppy that got caught in the rain. “Typical.”

Fiona laughs so loud that the sound echoes across the darkened glade, the flowers having withdrawn into themselves as soon as the first raindrops hit the ground. Yeah, it is pretty cliche, isn’t it? But that doesn’t stop her from winding her arms around his neck and tugging him down again until he obliges, albeit with a very distinct pout. She does her best to kiss it away, gentle and slow, nipping at his bottom lip until he huffs out a laugh and sweeps her up into his arms again to hold her devastatingly close. And it’s still not perfect- because of course it isn’t, nothing with them ever is- but it’s theirs.

It’s an entirely inappropriate amount of time before they decide to head on back to the cave. Because, as she soon finds out, kissing Rhys is... surprisingly addictive. Like, all the times she imagined this scenario- all those late nights lying awake and idle daydreams during the day and hours wasted wanting something she was so sure she would never be able to have- and she hadn’t even come _close_. He moves when she does; yielding when she pushes against him, swaying forward when she draws away. But making out in the middle of a rainstorm does get rather soggy and uncomfortable after a while, so they pull apart, dizzy and reluctant, to start trudging their way back towards camp.

Before they get there though, Fiona remembers the little ring in her pocket she’d stashed there for safekeeping, that crappily made piece of plastic Rhys gave to her that night on the roof. She’d taken it off because she was afraid of what it meant- of what it _could_ mean- but now she stops and whirls around to present it to him so he can slide it on her pinky all over again. And, just like before, it turns deep purple, with little swirls of red and blue, and she clutches it close to her heart like something adored and loved and cherished. Because it is, even if it’s also just a piece of trash.

When she and Rhys stumble back into the cave all hand in hand and sopping wet, Flick looks up from where they’re once again whittling something out of a little hunk of wood and raises a questioning eyebrow. “You guys get lost?”

Fiona drops Rhys’ hand first because she’s really not in the mood for their stupid, prying questions when she and Rhys only just managed to work out all their incredibly awkward shit not even ten minutes ago.

Well. Mostly. They sort of neglected to put a label on their relationship or even define what it is in the first place in between kissing the hell out of each other, but whatever. That’s not really necessary, right? The important thing is that they like each other. Like, like-like. Or in Rhys’ case, apparently, _looove_.

Ha. That’s so embarrassing for him. He's such a dork.

“Hellooo?” Flick pipes up again, impatient. “Is somebody gonna answer me? And what’s wrong with your face?”

The second question is directed at Fiona, who abruptly adjusts her expression into something that hopefully doesn’t look as much like she’s about to throw up an entire family of frogs. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with my face. Mind your business.”

The kid looks between her and Rhys a few times before their nose scrunches up in disgust. “Oh. Oh, _ew_.”

“What?” Rhys quips all snarkily, getting damningly red and crossing his arms. “What the hell is _ew_?”

“Okay, look,” they sigh, setting their whittling stuff to the side. “It’s really not my business where you guys do _your_ business, but don’t you think that’s just a little unsanitary? I’m saying this as a medical professional. That’s yucky. Think about the germs.”

Fiona’s cheeks go hot, all the way up to her ears. Rhys inhales sharply enough that he winds up choking on his own spit, and he tries to cover it up with a cough but does such a shitty job of it that Flick’s eyebrows drop even lower and they get this smarmy little asshole smirk that makes Fiona feel somewhat... violent.

“Yucky,” they repeat as they pick up their stupid knife and that dumb block of wood to continue their stupid, dumb whittling project. “Just couldn’t wait to consummate it, huh?”

“Congratulations, kid,” Fiona snaps bitingly, sliding down the cave wall to sit on the ground where she and Rhys slept the night before in a huff. “You just lost your talking privileges.”

They give her this really flat look. “But I can still-”

“Nope.”

“I can still talk to y-”

“Uh-uh.”

Now their frown turns into a sulk. “But I really wanted to tell you about the-”

“That’s so weird, do you hear something?” she addresses Rhys as he lowers himself down to sit next to her. “I swear it sounds like someone’s talking but that can’t be right. We’re the only ones here.”

Rhys shakes his head, very subtly wiggling his arm behind her back to tug her just the tiniest bit closer. “I think it’s just the wind.”

“Huh. Imagine that.” Fiona turns back to the kid to give them her best shit-eating grin. “Just the wind.”

Flick glowers so petulantly that it looks like they’re about to implode on themselves in rage. A theory only further supported when they jump up to stomp their foot childishly and spit out, “Well, I didn’t even want to tell you about the plan anyway, so _there_!”

“The plan?” Rhys echoes, interest piqued and embarrassment momentarily forgotten. “What plan? There’s a plan?”

They make this face like he’s stupid for even asking. “Of course there’s a plan. There’s always a plan. Except when there isn’t, and in that case, we make one. Which is what _we_ did,” they motion between themselves and Ezra, who’s currently occupied watching over a still-sleeping Isabel, “while you two were out having a boink in the dirt.”

Fiona can’t help but curl her lip at that. “Okay, first of all, never use the word _boink_ in that context again. Or in any context, actually. Just never say it. Ever.”

“Whatever.”

“Second of all,” she starts, working herself up to give them a nice, long earful about just how rude and _presumptuous_ they’re being before it occurs to her that she’d have better luck pushing water uphill with a rake than trying to scold them into acting like a normal human being. So she sighs, bringing up a hand to rub at her forehead and finishing belatedly, “Just... tell us about the plan, will you?”

“Oh, well, since you’ve both been so _nice_ to me and all,” they drawl sarcastically like they didn’t deserve every bit of it and then some. They all have a three-way staring contest before the kid finally concedes with a pout, dragging themselves over as theatrically as physically possible to stoop down next to her and Rhys so they’re not disturbing Ezra and Isabel quite as much.

“So, the thing is,” they start slowly, obviously still irritated by the conversation prior but their shoulders loosening some with... pensiveness? “Issa isn’t, um... doing so well.”

They steeple their fingers together in front of them, fidgeting. Ah. That explains it.

“We think it would be best to stay here until she gets a little better,” they continue after a moment, “if- if that’s okay with you guys. At least until she can walk on her own again. I know you probably still want to get back to Pandora as soon as possible, but...”

Fiona goes from being annoyed with the kid to feeling bad for them so fast that it feels like she has whiplash from it. Even Rhys looks a little sympathetic.

“We can wait,” he says quietly, looking to Fiona for support.

She doesn’t hesitate to nod in agreement, sitting back against the wall and crossing her ankles the other way. “It’s better to stick together anyway, right? Splitting up at this point sounds...”

“Dangerous,” Rhys finishes for her, “and a needless risk we don’t have to take.”

“...Right,” the kid mumbles, like they hadn’t really expected that. They regard her and Rhys with this look that so clearly says _thank you_ that they don’t even have to say it out loud. “Well, it... shouldn’t be any longer than a few days, tops. After that, we should keep heading away from the crash site. If Orcus decides to send out a dedicated team to find the wreck and comb the surrounding area, where we are right now would almost definitely fall into a standard search radius. Putting as much distance between us and the ship is our best bet at staying off their radar.”

“Do you really think they want to find us that bad?” Rhys wonders, to which both Flick and Fiona turn to give him dry, flat looks. “What? It’s not a stupid question. Is it?”

“I mean, considering we staged a prison break and stole one of their ships to escape and blew up half their base on the way out...” Flick trails off, allowing Rhys to connect the rest of the dots on that one. “They’re coming, that much isn’t up for debate. It’ll just take some time for them to get here since we dealt a pretty heavy blow to their resources. But we still can’t afford to stick around longer than we absolutely have to.”

Fiona nods. That all makes sense, she supposes. No reason for her to disagree with it. “So, is there a destination you had in mind or are we just going to be trudging through the jungle until we run into someone nice enough to point us in the direction of civilization?”

Flick leans back on their heels, shrugging slowly. “Prooobably the latter? Sorry. I know that’s not what you want to hear but we... don’t really know where we are right now. None of us have ever even left Nona before, so pretty much all we know about Deciman geography is what we’ve heard secondhand. Which isn’t a lot. So I guess you guys aren’t the only ones hopelessly lost and out of their depth anymore, as much as I hate to admit it.”

Rhys drums his fingers on his thigh as he chews that over. “What about these chips in our arms? They have GPS and map functionality, don’t they? We could use those to figure out where to go instead of just... blindly wandering.”

The kid thinks on that for a moment. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea? I mean, yeah, it’s an option, but I think accessing the AION right now is too risky. Issa would be able to explain it better, but from what I understand, even booting up the display sends some kind of pings or something to Orcus with all kinds of information, including the exact location the AION was remotely accessed from. We should probably stay off the grid altogether just to be safe.”

Well, that kind of sucks. And it doesn’t really leave them with a whole lot of other options, other than hiking out of this overgrown hellhole in the general direction of... away from where they crashed the ship. Which is no doubt why Flick and Ezra came to that particular accord for the plan in the first place. Because there’s not really anything else they can do.

But it’s what they’ve got, so they’re just going to have to make it work. If they can manage to find a town or city somewhere in this sweaty, green labyrinth, then she and Rhys can iron out all the details as to how, exactly, they’re going to get back to Pandora from there. Because she somehow doubts spaceships just grow on trees around these parts, so finding a place that even has the possibility of getting them a ticket home seems like a pretty reasonable first step. Ideally, said place will also have indoor air conditioning. Or at least some oscillating fans or something.

Fiona brings up an arm to rest her chin in her hand, considering the kid thoughtfully. “So, let’s assume this all pans out and we stumble across society again. What then?”

“I’m... not really sure?” Flick confesses after a moment. “As far as I know, there’s big cities all over Decima that double as tourist hotspots. Passenger ships going in and out nonstop. Tellus is the one I’ve always heard a lot about since that’s where the Eridium shipments go to be processed, but I have no idea where that is in relation to where we are right now. But any city with a station will probably work. We’ll help you guys figure out how to get back to Pandora, once we get there. It’s not like we’re just going to leave you to fend for yourselves.”

Oh. That’s... promising, but not really what Fiona was referring to. “I kind of meant what’s next for you three,” she nods over towards the pair still at the other end of the cave, “and what you’re going to do now that you’re, well, _here_ instead of on your homeplanet. Are you guys planning on going back?”

The kid appears to be thrown off by the question, blinking a few times before bringing up a hand to scratch at the back of their head in thought. “I don’t know that either. We haven’t talked about it. I haven’t even really thought about it. I think after everything that happened in Fides, Zeezee wants to stay here and start over, which... I guess wouldn’t be so bad. I’d miss the sand, though. And the day and night cycles here are _way_ too short. That would take some getting used to.”

“Are you kidding?” Rhys asks, eyebrows raised. “I mean, the days here _are_ pretty short- like, what, maybe twenty-eight hours?”

“I think it’s closer to thirty,” Flick says.

Rhys blinks at them incredulously. “And you really prefer the week-long days and nights to that?”

“I’m more weirded out by the fact that you’d actually miss the sand,” Fiona cuts in before they can answer. “I swear, sometimes I can still feel it between my toes. Just- What is even wrong with you, kid?”

They shake their head as they stand up again, wiping off some of the dirt that's stuck to their hands on their pants. “So many things, Arizona. So many things.”

So, with the issue of what’s next on the agenda mostly squared away, Flick leaves her and Rhys to go return to tending Isabel alongside Ezra. She’s awake now- possibly having been roused by the sound of conversation- and... looking a lot worse than yesterday, if that’s even possible. Her voice is scratchy and desperate as she pleads with those two for something Fiona can’t quite catch from here, only to be denied softly and soothed with gentle hands. But that completely backfires by the looks of it, and she only gets more upset the more they try to calm her down. And not just upset but _angry_ , even, _enraged_ , sobbing furiously and throwing things within her reach and clawing at the floor until her nails are caked with dirt.

And then she grows weak again, overcome with sickness and unable to even keep water down for longer than half an hour. Fiona and Rhys stay out of it, trying to keep themselves occupied by talking to each other in low voices and wondering if maybe they should step out again since the rain seems to have let up for the moment. But Flick and Ezra beat them to the punch, pulling Isabel up to her feet despite her hysterical and gravelly protests and walking her outside. It doesn’t sound like they take her very far- maybe down by the river at the furthest- her occasional outburst echoing loud enough to reach where she and Rhys still sit side by side near the mouth of the cave. And by the time the trio comes back, Isabel looks... better, sort of, but very tired, almost instantaneously passing out as soon as Ezra and Flick get her situated comfortably back in the far corner of the cave.

Day slowly turns back into night, which passes mostly uneventfully except for some weird, animalistic calls that wake Fiona up just before dawn. She sits up to listen for a while, just to be cautious, because like hell is she going to be taken by surprise by a bunch of freaky, alien wildlife yet again. But Rhys eventually rolls over and prods at her until she lays back down beside him, bringing up his hand to touch his fingers to her cheek without even opening his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he slurs, his voice soft and throaty from sleep.

She shakes her head, sliding her fingers up along his wrist to cover his. “Nothing. I thought I heard something, but it’s nothing.”

He sighs at that, and grows so still again that she’s under the impression he fell back asleep until he suddenly moves to snake his arms around her waist and yank her closer.

O... kay then. This is. Odd. And unexpected. Maybe not totally unwanted, but... a little warning would have been nice.

“Um,” Fiona mumbles against his shoulder as her face gets all hot and he buries his face in her hair. “Rhys?”

He grunts in acknowledgement instead of actually responding with anything coherent. Right.

She twists around in his grasp a little but it turns out that he has a pretty damn good hold on her. She could probably break his grip if she really tried to, but... she doesn’t. Because, uh. Reasons.

“You know it’s way too hot and sticky to be able to sleep like this, right?” she informs him after a few minutes, once sweat starts collecting under her shirt where his arms are pressed snug against her hips.

Yawning, Rhys draws back enough to duck his chin and blink down at her, a slow, drowsy grin tugging at his lips. “You’re cute.”

“I’m tired,” she retorts dryly, even though his words just sent her stomach into somersaults. “And sweaty. Let me go so I can go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t let her go. At least, not at first. He just watches her all sappily for a few moments before leaning down to press his lips gently against hers, which, again, she’s not anticipating, so she’s not prepared for it. Bringing his hands back up to brush her bangs back and run his fingers through her hair, he kisses her until she’s breathless- until she’s shaking and warm for an entirely different reason than because of the temperature outside- and then and only then does he let her go.

“Love you,” he murmurs as he backs off some to give her the space she’s not so sure she wants anymore, rolling onto his back and promptly slipping back into unconsciousness before she can even get a word in edgewise.

Well.

To say that she has trouble getting back to sleep after that would be a massive understatement.

Three more days pass in much the same way the first did, with Isabel just as sick and Flick being a little shithead when they’re not dutifully caring for her alongside Ezra and also Rhys finding sneaky times to kiss Fiona senseless. It’s an emotional rollercoaster, group morale shifting and turning on its head at the drop of a dime so much that Fiona ends up spending more of her time asleep than she does awake, constantly exhausted by all the brouhaha. Or maybe she’s still recovering from when they busted Flick and Isabel out of rebel jail and then wound up crashing their getaway ride into the side of Malaria Central. Or, actually, it’s probably a mixture of both.

Either way, when Fiona _is_ awake, it’s difficult to find ways to kill the time stuck in this shitty little hole in the ground like they are. But they all manage it, somehow, and without anybody murdering each other to boot. Talk about a Christmas miracle.

Isabel, on the other hand, seems to stay about the same until the morning of the fourth day when she just... improves all of a sudden, the change so drastic that Fiona isn’t sure what to make of it. She’s sitting up and eating on her own during breakfast, sipping from a canteen while she works on scraping out all the mud caked beneath her nails. Either Flick or Ezra must have cleaned her face for her while she’d been ill, the dark, watery smudges she’d had beneath her eyes gone and replaced by faint circles of fatigue instead. And her hair’s shorter- just a little past her shoulders now instead of pulled up into a long ponytail and cascading halfway down her back- something that had confused Fiona until she’d seen the rows of hair extensions Flick had apparently taken out for her and carefully folded up to stow away.

“Feeling better?” Fiona inquires tentatively as all five of them continue to eat, but Isabel doesn’t appear to notice Fiona was talking to her before the kid gently nudges her to attention.

“Oh,” she says, pausing her ministrations along her nail beds to blink up at Fiona. “I’m sorry?”

“I asked if you were feeling better,” Fiona repeats herself as she prepares to pop another handful of dried fruit into her mouth. “You know, from... before.”

Isabel colors slightly at that, looking down again in... embarrassment? Shame? “Ah. Yes. I am. Thank you.”

Fiona doesn’t push it past that. She seems insecure and unwilling to talk about it, so it’s probably best to just leave it alone.

After breakfast and some brief deliberation amongst the group, everyone comes to the agreement that they’re all well enough to travel again and they should get themselves packed up to head on out. Flick recounts their supplies before they go to update whatever mental tally they’re keeping in that strange, strange head of theirs, tucking everything back into its respective bags and handing them off to Ezra for him to situate across his shoulders. Isabel scoops up Lucky off the floor from where he’s spent most of the past few days cat-napping and Rhys and Fiona make sure they have everything they came with- which wasn’t a lot, but still- before the five of them plus the cat make their way out of the cave and into the steamy wilderness outside.

Fiona doesn’t really remember which way the crash site is in, but Flick does, so they take the lead and turn off to escort them all in the direction exactly opposite of it. They hike on through the underbrush, passing through the glade where Rhys had finally thought it prudent to inform Fiona that her whole one-sided pining thing wasn’t as one-sided as she thought. The little flowers everywhere don’t look quite the same in broad daylight, still pretty but without the dreamy glow that took her breath away the first time. But Rhys stops and picks some anyway, something she doesn’t realize until he jogs to catch up with her and taps her on the shoulder to hand them over with a faltering explanation that he winds up trailing off in the middle of in favor of just giving her a timid smile instead.

And it’s such a stupidly dorky and _sweet_ gesture that she feels all warm suddenly- not normal, sweaty warm, but warm inside her heart- and she takes them from him gingerly, being careful not to crush the delicate, closed blooms between her fingers. She’s not sure what to do with them though, until she gets the bright idea to sneak some into Rhys’ hair when he’s not looking. There’s a halting breeze today, so the majority of them get blown free, but enough stick around for Flick and Isabel and Ezra to start noticing and giggling in turn, which only confuses Rhys until he finally catches Fiona in the act. At that, he gathers up the ones left in her hands and turns the tables onto her, and they spend the entire rest of the day trading the blossoms back and forth and losing more and more in the process until they’re only left with one.

It’s smaller than the other ones were, a little wilted and with a floppy petal that’s almost all the way torn through. Rhys sets it on the brim of her hat again when he thinks she won’t notice, but he’s not nearly as sly about it as he seems to think he is, so she sees him coming from a mile away. But instead of tossing it right back at him, she reaches up to take it between her fingers, marveling at the deep, mauve color and the faded stripes of lavender. And she decides, hell with it, she wants to keep it. Imperfect and damaged as it is, it holds a memory she doesn’t ever want to forget. So once they make camp for the night on the muddy edge of a riverbank, she asks the kid if they have a book or something for her to press it in.

Flick gives her this knowing smirk upon seeing the little flower in her hands, and so does Rhys, actually, when he figures out what she’s trying to do. They both prod and tease her for it but she just huffs sourly, insisting that she only likes it because it’s pretty, okay, there’s nothing more to it, nothing less. Of course, that doesn’t fool either one of them, and they keep needling at her until she threatens to kick both their asses if they don’t shut the hell up and stop giving her shit.

Things start winding down some after that, the kid finally conceding to Fiona’s request and digging an old sketchbook out of one of their bags. She arranges the tiny bloom between some of the blank pages towards the back before shutting the book tight, handing it back to Flick so they can slide it back into their backpack for safekeeping until later. Dinner gets passed around and after they’re all done eating, Fiona retreats a short distance away from the riverbank. Isabel and Ezra sit down at the base of a tree closer to the shore with Lucky curled up between them while Flick and Rhys walk the perimeter of the clearing to stretch out some of the soreness in their legs. Which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to Fiona, considering they’ve already been walking all damn day, but whatever.

She’s just making herself comfortable between a bunch of roots and vines clumped together on the ground when the kid suddenly lets out a yelp and leaps away from a very prickly, oddly colored bush at the far end of the grove.

“Flick?” Isabel calls out to them in worry. “What happened? Are you alright?”

They don’t answer immediately. They just stand there and stare at the weird little flowering buds on that shrub, twitching slightly for a minute before they start... laughing. _Giggling_ , really, and beckoning Rhys over from where he’s already approaching in curiosity. “Hey. C’mere. You should smell these.”

Uh. That... doesn’t sound good. Or normal. At all. Isabel must be feeling some red flags too because after signing something quickly to Ezra that Fiona’s not even sure he can see in this low light, Isabel stands up. “I don’t think that’s-”

Rhys, for whatever reason, actually walked all the way over and is already sniffing at the flowers before Isabel can finish her sentence. And then his posture jerks up straight again, this weird little shudder running through him as he just blinks absently a few times like Flick did.

And then he starts laughing. Nonstop.

“Oh my god,” he manages between his cackles, turning to the kid to say again and much louder than the first time, “Oh my _god_.”

“I know, right?” They scrunch up their nose and bump their shoulder against his- or, really, against his arm because they’re so much shorter than he is- before turning to face Isabel who’s already marching up to the pair with this air of sternness about her. “Issa, you should come smell these, they’re really-”

“Hallucinogenic?” she finishes for them, coming to a stop and crossing her arms in disapproval. Ohhh, shit. That explains it. “Yes, I’m aware. I know all about them, believe me. Come on, both of you, get away from there before you inhale enough of that pollen to make your heart stop.”

A stab of panic goes through Fiona at that, but luckily, they both stumble away from the trippy death bush without further coaxing. Fiona hops up to lead Rhys over to the spot she chose for the two of them while Isabel has to more or less herd Flick over to where Ezra is looking on in equal parts concern and amusement.

Getting Rhys to actually sit _down_ , however, is another story altogether, since all he wants to do is wander back over to those flowers and persuade her into smelling one. But once she gets him on the ground and she’s sure he’s going to stay put, she walks back over towards where Ezra stashed their bags of supplies to pull out a canteen of water for her and Rhys. And then two more, passing one over to Ezra who nods gratefully and the other to Isabel who’s somehow managed to entice Flick into lying down in the crook of her arm.

“Thanks, Tali,” the kid says to Fiona drowsily, having to grab for the thermos in Isabel’s hands three times before they finally get the distance right.

Fiona scratches at the back of her head, confused. Tali? As in Talia? Isn’t that the name of their stepmom? And they called _her_ that? That’s weird. Probably the funky pollen talking, but still.

Isabel is watching her carefully now though, tapping her chin in thought before she nods her head along like she knows something Fiona doesn’t. “Ah. There is a resemblance, isn’t there? I hadn't really noticed before. I suppose that answers a few lingering questions I had about why Flick chose to help you two, of all people.”

“Uh,” Fiona says, even more baffled than before. “Sorry?”

Isabel gestures for her to wait a moment before moving her hands around to pat Flick’s pockets down for something. They protest weakly, pushing at her shoulders and insisting that she, quote, “Stop being handsy on the first date,” to which Isabel only rolls her eyes and informs them that they are, in fact, already married. Which comes as news to Fiona. She wonders if that’s a recent thing or if Flick just neglected to mention it. Could go either way, really.

Isabel eventually produces a small, blood-stained photograph out of the depths of the kid’s coat pocket, dusting it off lightly and handing it up to Fiona. She takes it, having to squint and tilt it this way and that to make out whatever she’s supposed to be looking at since there’s not a lot of light to work with right now. But there’s... Flick, she thinks, right in the center, younger and much more carefree than she’s ever seen them look in the time she’s known them. And on either side of them is a man and a woman- their dad and stepmom, respectively, if she had to take a guess. The man is on the short side but still taller than Flick, his long, thin hair half pulled up and just a hint of a smile on his face. And the woman...

Wow. She really does look like Fiona. Or maybe Fiona looks like her. Whatever. She’s obviously older in this photo than Fiona is now but the similarity is still a little uncanny, from the short hair to the bright green eyes. The only thing she’s missing is a red streak in her bangs and a faded notch on her brow bone. Although after studying the photo for a little while longer, Fiona notices that the woman- Talia- does actually have a scar on the right side of her face, but rather than stretching down across her eyebrow, it cuts into her upper lip instead.

Fiona hands the photograph back to Isabel after another minute, feeling a little... odd. She had no idea she looked so much like the kid’s stepmom. They never offered up the information or even implied it, but thinking back on all the things she and Rhys have learned about their past, she thinks she can sort of understand why.

She makes her way back over to Rhys with that weirdly heavy revelation weighing on her mind, sinking down next to where he’s lying flat on his back with his hands folded over his stomach and is just regarding the space above them in awe.

“You ever notice how pretty the stars are?” he whispers at her in wonder, like talking too loud might frighten them off.

Fiona shakes off the rest of that nagging feeling about the whole stepmom dilemma, glancing up and then doing a double take before sliding down to lie next to Rhys, biting back a grin. “Yeah, sometimes.”

“It’s like... that’s the whole universe right there. Just hanging in the sky.”

“Uh-huh,” she muses. She lets him gawk for another minute before piping up again, “Hey, Rhys?”

“Yeah?”

She turns all the way onto her side to face him, propping herself up on her elbow. “You know you can’t see the stars right now, right? There’s too many trees in the way.”

He blinks a few times, like he’s only just now noticing the leafy green canopy above their heads. “Oh.”

Fiona laughs before she can stop herself, clapping a hand over her mouth to smother her giggles into her palm because shit, she doesn’t want to be _mean_. It’s just really, really funny that he’s so completely out of it that he apparently has the object permanence of a toddler. But Rhys doesn’t seem offended by her laughter- actually, he looks just the opposite- craning his neck around to gaze up at her in amazement and lazily pushing her wrist out of the way.

“Oooh,” he murmurs once she drops it, getting this big, goofy grin that makes her heart skip a beat and touching her cheek with clumsy fingers. And then he pinches her skin- just barely, not even enough to hurt- giggling for a full minute before he finally says, “I love this.”

Fiona blinks. “Love... what?”

He releases her, still laughing a little, and runs his thumb down along her jaw. “Your face.”

She. Oh.

Okay.

What the hell.

That has to be the weirdest and most awkwardly phrased compliment she’s ever received in her entire life, and yet somehow, some way, it _still_ makes her blush so hard that she has to drop her head and hide her face against his chest. Great. Awesome. Nice to know that Rhys still has the ability to be so uncouthly suave even when he’s tripping balls.

“Also,” he starts again, because oh no, of course not, don’t even give her five seconds to recover from the first curveball before throwing another one. That’s fine. She’s fine with that. “For the record, I think I lied before.”

“About what?” she mumbles into the front of his shirt against her better judgement, still not ready to pick her head up and look him in the eye just yet.

“About the universe being in the sky,” he breathes as he starts to gently run his fingers through her hair. “I think the universe is riiiight... here.”

He pokes her shoulder with his free hand and it takes everything in her not to just. Scream.

After a long while- and a _lot_ more embarrassment at her expense- Rhys finally drifts off to sleep, and Fiona follows shortly after once she forces her blood pressure back down to a level that’s not quite so dangerous to her health. Morning comes again with fuzzy memories and pounding headaches, at least on his and Flick’s end, and neither one of them appear to remember much of what they said to her. Although Fiona gets the feeling that Flick might be fibbing generously because she catches them brooding over that photograph from last night during breakfast. Something spooks them though, or maybe they just feel her watching, because they hastily shove it away and continue on about their routine without saying a word.

The five pick up their trek from where they left off, trampling on through the overgrown wilderness until the sun begins to set once more. They’re looking for a spot to make camp for the night, tired and hungry and yeah, super gross and sweaty, when Fiona thinks she hears... footsteps? Which isn’t that unusual, considering there’s five of them trudging around through the brush and none of them are being particularly graceful about it, but...

She stops dead in her tracks, motioning for everyone else in front of her to do the same. It’s just a hunch, or- no, probably not even that. It’s really nothing more than a paranoid thought. But if she’s learned anything by now, it’s that it’s always better to be safe than sorry.

Fiona turns to watch the winding path through the flora they just squeezed past for any signs of movement, standing stock still and straining to hear anything beyond the strangled breeze blowing between the tree trunks and the sound of everybody’s breathing. The kid ultimately sighs with impatience, spinning back around to continue pushing through the thicket with Isabel and Ezra in tow. Rhys stays put though, having long since learned to trust Fiona’s gut feelings even more than she trusts them herself. But after a minute, she shakes her head.

“It’s probably nothing,” she tells him with a shrug as they both face forward again. “Maybe just the wind or, hell, I dunno, whatever creepy, alien fauna this place has. It’s actually kind of weird how we haven’t seen anything like that ye-”

Something _yanks_ her from behind, pulling her straight through this huge, prickly shrub with thorns sharp enough to tear through her bare arms like paper.

The last thing she sees is the back of Rhys’ head, only just starting to turn around at the commotion.

Shit. _Shit_.

She tries to call out for him but whatever or- or _whoever_ grabbed her slides a hand over her mouth just in time. They keep dragging her, _hauling_ her through this stupid, shitty bush. She thrashes and twists and digs her feet into the ground to try and free herself but to no avail, and once they’re finally on the other side of the hedge, her assailant uses all the momentum she’s worked up against her and throws her to the ground with a _thud_.

Her left wrist _pops_ when she lands, bending at a funny angle and sending a white-hot shock up the entire length of her forearm.

She clamps down on her tongue to stop from crying out- _stay strong don’t show weakness never let them see you’re hurt_ \- and rage burns at the back of her throat like a wildfire.

She takes a breath. And blows it out. And looks up at her attacker, shaking with something dark and twisted and wrathful.

Black and white. Black and white. Black and white.

Three of them, not one, standing around her with their guns drawn and aiming right at the center of her forehead.

“Make a sound,” the one in the middle starts, the smooth, white plate of their helmet sparking something wild and dangerous in her veins, “and you’re dead, eel.”

The soldier on the right- the smallest by far, a skinny waif of a thing and holding her gun like she’s never even used it before- nudges the middle one with her shoulder. “S-Sergeant Callam, um, sir? The scan said- the scan said that we should try to capture them alive, so-”

“I know what the fucking scan said, Warren,” the sergeant barks over her, making the woman shrivel back into position. “Do you need to be reminded what the first rule of patrolling is?”

“N-No, sir.”

“You sure? Because all I’m hearing is a disobedient recruit that’s just dying to get her scrawny ass kicked off the squad. Sergeant Ryker?”

The third soldier inclines his head slightly. “Sir?”

“Remind Recruit Warren what the first rule of patrolling is.”

“To respect and follow the command of superior officers in order to ensure the safety of the squad, sir.”

“That’s right.” Callam turns their head just slightly to the side to address Warren. “Don’t question my authority again, Recruit. Do I make myself clear?”

“...Yes, sir.”

“I said, do I make myself _clear_?”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

Fiona’s gaze slides between the three of them in turn. It’s obvious who’s in charge here, and that weaseling herself out of this one is going to take a lot of creativity. She’s outnumbered, three to one, so brute force won’t work. Her only option is talking her way out, and given what that recruit said about capturing them alive, she would wager that Callam’s bluff to kill her was more a scare tactic than a genuine threat.

Maybe she can use that to her advantage.

“First day on the job, huh?” Fiona says experimentally to Warren, and the tiny recruit is practically shaking in her boots. “Must be tough. You’re just trying to follow orders and Sergeant Dickhead here won’t even give you a break.”

A beat passes. Callam’s stance shifts. Fiona doesn’t have time to react before they’re bringing their foot around to kick her right in the side of the head.

She goes down with a shout, blood spilling into her mouth and her vision going sideways, upside down, completely black altogether.

Shit. That didn’t work. She has to try something else, she has to-

“Tie her up,” Callam’s voice rings out again, and Fiona squints and blinks away the dark spots obscuring her view until she can see that they’re talking to Warren. “Ryker and I will work out how we’re going to separate the rest. And don’t-” they grab her by the arm as they pass, shaking her roughly, “-don’t you fuck this up, Recruit. You’re one strike away from getting discharged. You’d do best to remember that.”

She nods vigorously and Callam releases her to go confer with Ryker momentarily. Warren wastes no time hurrying over to stoop down next to where Fiona is still writhing on the ground.

“Please,” Fiona wheezes between gritted teeth as Warren gently gathers her hands behind her back. “Please don’t do this.”

“I- I-” the recruit stammers, floundering for a moment before securing some kind of metal cuffs around Fiona’s wrists. “I’m sorry, I have to, I-I can’t just-”

“ _Warren_!” Callam calls, making the recruit jump.

She finishes binding Fiona quickly after that, being kind enough to sit her up on her knees once it’s done so at least she’s not eating dirt anymore.

Fiona tests the strength of the cuffs as Warren walks towards where the other two are still talking and plotting in hushed voices, but there’s no way she’s getting out of these. They cut painfully deep into her skin as she flexes her wrists around, the metal sharp and unforgiving and only growing tighter the more she struggles.

Dammit. She can’t break free, not without that recruit’s help. And she can’t sneak or run away when she’s being watched so closely. She can’t do anything but she can’t do _nothing_ either because that would be damning all her friends to getting ambushed and captured the same way she did, and then what will happen? They’ll be shipped off to some torture dungeon- and not even the _good_ kind- before eventually being killed at the hands of these monochromatic assholes?

She’s out of alternatives.

Fiona clears her throat quietly, taking a deep breath and then screaming as loud as she physically can, “ _Help_!”

Callam is on her in a heartbeat, kicking her square in the chest. She hits the ground and her breath is gone, knocked right out of her, but she drags in another and screams again. Another kick, another scream. Again and again and again. Through the pain, through the tears and through the _agony_ , she hopes and prays that her voice carries far enough to reach someone, anyone. Rhys, the kid, Isabel, or even- oh, well, wait, she guesses maybe not Ezra.

And just when she’s giving up hope, when her voice is growing hoarse and Callam is breathing heavy from the effort of stomping her into the dirt and her body feels more broken than whole.

The bushes rustle with movement. Down at the other end of the clearing next to where Ryker is standing at ease and Warren is cowering, cringing inwards on herself like she can’t bear to watch what’s happening. The bushes rustle, they shake and shudder, and someone stumbles out from behind the hedge before any of the soldiers even realize what’s happening.

Fiona smiles, weakly.

Brown and gold.

Callam and Ryker have their guns drawn and trained on him in an instant, Warren fumbling for hers. But Rhys has one too, one that looks like the ones Ezra gave them, pointed right at Callam and his hands shaking but aim right and true.

“Let her go,” he demands quietly, eyes widening some when he sees the state she’s in before refocusing on the three soldiers, incensed. “Let her go _now_.”

Callam has the gall to laugh, loud and raspy, cocking their head to the side. “You really think you’re in a position to be making demands, eel? You’re outnumbered. Three of us and only one of you. You made the wrong move showing up without the rest of your friends.”

Rhys falters. Fiona can see it, even from here, still on the ground and blood dripping into her eyes. He hesitates. Doubts himself. Hears the truth in the sergeant’s words and slowly realizes the exact nature of his mistake.

Callam doesn’t miss a beat. They jump on the opportunity, bending down to fist their fingers in the front of Fiona’s shirt and _yanking_ her up. And it hurts, god, it _hurts_ to move, like something’s crushing her from the inside, like an ache turned to pressure turned to burning, unbearable _torment_.

They pull her forward, over towards Rhys, and throw her back down onto the ground again at their own feet. She can’t catch herself, cheek hitting the dirt and this involuntary sound grating in the back of her throat. They kick her down when she tries to drag herself away, and reaim their pistol at her instead of Rhys.

“I’m going to count backwards from five,” Callam tells Rhys simply, offhandedly, “and if you haven’t dropped your weapon by the time I reach one, I’m going to put a bullet in the back of your little girlfriend’s head. Sound fair?”

Fiona spits a wad of blood out of her mouth, snorting blackly. “As if you motherfuckers give a shit about what’s _fai_ -”

Their foot _slams_ into her ribs again and she collapses onto her side, cutting herself off with a choked cry that makes Rhys flinch.

“Five,” the sergeant begins, adjusting their stance.

Rhys shakes his head, slowly at first, and then faster, more firmly. “No. _No_. You’re going- You’re going to let her go, you’re going to let us-”

“Four,” Callam continues. They jerk their head at Ryker and Warren to back away from Rhys. “Put the gun down, eel, and no one gets hurt.”

And she can tell he’s considering it, seriously considering it, so she rasps out, “Rhys, don’t. Don’t listen to-”

The sergeant kicks her, _twice_ , forcing her to shut up lest she sob openly in front of all of them. “Three.”

Rhys isn’t watching Callam anymore. He’s watching her, horrified, frightened to trembling, waiting for her to tell him what to do.

“Two.”

But she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what to do. She can’t think, she’s just... tired. She’s just so tired.

“One.”

Fiona takes one last breath and holds it, letting her eyes slide shut.

 _Bang_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drew more [fanart for my own fic](https://medjc.tumblr.com/post/176447695709/not-her-never-her-only-you-always-you) because I literally don't have even a modicum of self control. I keep saying this and I really mean it ok I just have a problem.  
> But! I'd like to thank you all again for putting up with my terrible, awful, no good update schedule because I know it's getting ridiculous. This fic is turning a year old next month and to everyone who's been around since the beginning and all you new readers out there too I'd just like to say that I love you guys and all your comments and kudos and bookmarks and messages on Tumblr or Twitter or wherever mean the world to me and really do make my day a GAZILLION times better so!! Thank you for reading and being there and existing in general??! You're all awesome and great and wonderful human beings and I love each and every one of you with my entire heart??!!??? I hope you all continue to enjoy as I veeery slowly churn out the rest of this incredibly self indulgent AU and that I don't drive you guys too crazy with the wait!!!


	7. The Thing with Feathers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's ya boi med-jick, back at it again with the 50k+ chapters. Will I ever stop? It's less likely than you think.  
> No warnings for this one other than the typical violence we've come to love and expect. Sorry for everyone that was expecting NSFW, I promise I'll do better.

Terror splinters up his spine like wicked shards of ice.

His hands shake. His hands _tremble_.

His own gun remains silent, cold, unfired.

No. _No_.

 _Bang_.

Again. The sound blasts out _again_ , suddenly, unexpectedly. Rhys jumps just as badly as the first time, his already faltering hold on his weapon growing weaker out of panic and shock and _fear_.

 _Bang_. _Bang_. _Bang_.

Three more makes five overall, thundering out in an echo across the clearing. Five rounds. Five times this sadistic asshole has fired at the back of Fiona’s head.

And... five times they’ve missed.

Or, rather, five times the shots just. Haven’t connected. The gun isn’t jammed. The soldier’s aim is precise and dead-on. They pulled the trigger, the cells unloaded, but somewhere between the end of the barrel and the crown of Fiona’s skull, something _impossible_ is happening.

The bolts have stopped midair, utterly and completely. Not fizzled, not vanished or been absorbed by something else. They’ve just... stopped. Stalled by something, forced to a standstill- to _floating_ , suspended, in the space above Fiona’s head. They’re so bright and close together that Rhys can’t tell where one ends and another begins, but they’re all there, all five of them, hanging stagnant in their own path of trajectory like time has all but ground to a halt.

But it hasn’t. Nobody moves, nobody speaks, but time still trudges forward. He can tell from the sigh of a breeze that rolls through the grove, from the way the leafy canopy above their heads murmurs back in kind. From how Fiona’s shoulders jerk and shudder as she wheezes with every halting breath she takes, and how his own chest _twists_ , how it throbs and it burns, his heartbeat skipping, fluttering, _thudding_ against his ribs like it’s searching for a way out.

“What the fuck?” the soldier in charge eventually voices what pretty much everyone is probably thinking, except for maybe Fiona since Rhys isn’t entirely convinced she’s coherent enough to realize what’s going on. Or that she’s even still conscious, for that matter. Her hair is matted so thickly over her eyes by all the blood that he can’t be sure, but she’s not trying to crawl away anymore, all the fight she’d had left in her just... gone. Kicked out of her, savagely and without a second thought.

The soldier’s posture shifts after another moment- less aggressive, more unsure- and they withdraw their weapon slightly to consider it as if _that_ might be part of the problem. But they almost immediately jerk their arm back into position, aiming at Rhys this time and barking maliciously, “What the fuck is this? What are you doing?”

Staring down the wrong end of a gun again makes Rhys’ mouth go dry, the words sticking in his throat like tar. All he can do is shake his head helplessly instead. He’s... not doing anything. Is he? If he is, it’s not intentional. But last he checked, stopping a bullet in its tracks out of sheer force of will alone is an ability that falls waaay outside his skillset. So whatever _this_ is- whatever’s stopping those energy cells from melting the back of Fiona’s scalp right off her skull- it almost definitely doesn’t have anything to do with him.

And it obviously doesn’t have anything to do with any of these assholes either. He doesn’t have to see their faces to know that they’re just as bewildered by this... phenomenon as he is. One of the other soldiers- the short, skinny one who looks so unsteady on her feet that a mild gust of wind could probably knock her over- adjusts her grip on the pistol in her hands and clears her throat. “Um, Sergeant Callam, s-sir? Maybe we should-”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Warren,” the one named Callam snaps over their shoulder. “I don’t want to hear another word out of you, understand?”

The smaller soldier shifts her weight around like she’s not sure how to respond to that, or if the sergeant even wants a response at all. She ultimately settles on ducking her head and mumbling in acknowledgement, “Sir.”

Callam seems satisfied by that, whirling back around to face Rhys. “I’m done playing games with you, eel. If you don’t stop whatever- whatever _shit_ you’re pulling right now, then I swear I’m going to-”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” an unfamiliar voice interrupts before they can get the whole threat out, gravelly and feminine and with a smack of an accent that Rhys can’t quite place. “You don’t actually think he’s the one doing this, do you? Really? _Him_?”

All three soldiers whip around at the sound of the newcomer. They swing their guns left and right, searching the width of the clearing in one big sweep, and Rhys leans to the side to peer around them only to find... there’s no one else here? Unless they’re hiding further back in the undergrowth at the far end of the grove, though the voice sounded way too close for that to be the case. But other than the disembodied declaration of incredulity at Callam’s faulty assumption, there’s no other trace of... whoever the hell just said that.

So. _That’s_ not weird in any way whatsoever.

“Who’s there?” Callam demands as they take a few steps forward past the other two soldiers, apparently forgetting about Rhys and Fiona for the moment. “Show yourself, now!”

Whatever ghost that’s up and decided to haunt this particular section of this overgrown hellhole responds with a rather heavy sigh. “You ground pounders are always so disappointingly thick.”

The space around the third soldier- Ryker, Rhys thinks his name plate said- bends and wavers before a _longblade_ , of all things, splits it apart. It comes flying out at such a high velocity that it pierces through Ryker’s armor like it’s not even there, burying itself in the middle of his back with a plume of steam and a sickening _thud_.

He goes down instantly, making this wet, strangled noise in the back of his throat, while the other two soldiers jerk around to point their guns at Rhys again.

Oh, right, like _he’s_ the one that threw that. What, do they think he was just hiding a big ass sword in his pocket?

But before either one of them can pull the trigger, something hits Callam too; a blow to the head from behind by the looks of it. They spin on their heel once they find their balance, growling furiously and pushing past where Ryker is still twitching on the ground to pivot this way and that like they might fortuitously smack into the intruder if they try hard enough. Warren, on the other hand, seems to hesitate at the idea of taking on an invisible opponent, lowering her weapon and stumbling a few paces backwards.

And Rhys? Well. As much as he would love to stick around and find out what the riveting conclusion to this little standoff is going to be, he’s just been presented with an unexpected- if not timely- opening that he would be an idiot to waste.

He’s on the ground beside Fiona in a heartbeat, shoving his borrowed gun into the back of his pants and leaning forward to start unsticking her bangs from her forehead in hopes of rousing her from her stupor. But just like he was afraid of, she’s only clinging to consciousness by a thread. Brushing her hair back and running trembling fingers down her cheek earns him a minimal outward response, and even switching to gently shaking her by the shoulder doesn’t get him much more than a raspy groan of protest that turns into a wet cough at the end.

“Fi,” he tries anyway, doing his best to ignore how his voice breaks painfully on her name. “Fi, we have to- we have to go. We have to go _right now_.”

She makes another sound that threatens to turn his heart inside out; something that falls halfway between a sigh and a wheeze. Her fingers twitch- a spark of hope- then her eyelids flutter open- and now a flame- and she looks up at him with such a surprising amount of alertness that he briefly wonders if maybe his knee-jerk assessment of her wellbeing was wrong.

And then her eyes slide firmly shut again, snuffing out every last ember and leaving only bleak dismay in its place.

 _Shit_. Goddammit.

Mind racing, Rhys glances up to confirm both soldiers are still occupied. He has to squint to even see past the unforgiving light of the energy cells still hanging frozen in the air just above him and Fiona- which, again, he has to reiterate is incredibly weird and definitely outside the realm of things that should be happening right now. It’s really not possible to stress that enough.

But there’s no doubt a better time and place for his questionings of the laws of the universe considering he hasn’t the slightest clue of what’s keeping the bolts stationary, or how long it’s even going to last. Getting Fiona (and himself!) out of their immediate path of destruction while he still has the chance should prooobably be ranking a little higher up on his list of priorities right now, to say the very least.

With that decided, Rhys wastes no time hopping back up to his feet and reorienting himself behind Fiona so he can maneuver her onto her back- minding where her wrists are bound- and hook his hands under her arms. Callam lets out another enraged shout just as he starts pulling her out of harm’s way, startling him so bad that he nearly drops her, but a quick glimpse in the sergeant’s direction reveals they’re still too busy getting knocked around by whoever or _what_ ever butted its way into the middle of this confrontation to pay any attention to him and Fiona.

Relieved, he continues tugging her along the ground towards the edge of the clearing as carefully as he can manage. As inert as she is, the jostle of movement is enough to draw out pained, choked whimpers that he can only guess are involuntary, but he can’t help but wince with guilt all the same. He’s hurting her- the damage done by Callam clearly widespread and severe- but as much as he loathes it, as much as his heart _rives_ in objection, it can’t be helped. He has to do this. He has to get her out of here, get her somewhere _safe_ , and moving her like this is his only option. Even if he tried picking her up and carrying her that way, he’s not confident that would be much better for-

Something _smacks_ into him from behind, cutting that thought short.

Or, maybe more accurately, _he_ smacks into _it_. He’d been walking backwards, not even bothering to check over his shoulder for obstacles.

And- he learns after whipping his head around to look at what he hit out of reflex- it’s not a some _thing_ at all. It’s a some _one_.

The smallest of the three soldiers stands in his way, wobbling dangerously on her feet like the force of Rhys running into her was almost enough to throw her off balance. But she rights herself quickly and jumps back with an impressive amount of nimbleness, only to raise her arms and point her gun at him again with shaky, unsure hands.

“P-Please,” she starts with a tremor in her voice to match the one preventing her from aiming properly. “Please don’t- Please don’t make me do this.”

Before Rhys can even open his mouth to helpfully inform her that he’s not _making_ her do anything, the air between them ripples... strangely. But he doesn’t have time to question it before an invisible force _slams_ into Warren hard enough to take her all the way to the ground.

Her gun goes off right as she hits the dirt. Maybe out of instinct, he reasons, or a misfire caused by the fall.

Either way, he barely gets a chance to register the shot itself let alone the fact that the barrel is still pointed in his direction before the space separating them shivers again and an entire _person_ emerges out of, well, nothing.

And Rhys is thinking, okay, weird, but hey, if this... whoever this is wants to take a bullet to the foot for him, then he’s totally cool with that. The thundering echo of that cell unloading is now officially the sound of someone else’s problem.

What he _doesn’t_ expect is for this weirdo to jerk their- her?- arm around impossibly fast and deflect the bolt with a sword, sending it on a different course altogether. It ricochets off a tree and hits the dirt with a muted _hiss_ , the energy fizzling out harmlessly and without anybody getting hurt to boot.

Rhys is... flabbergasted, to put it lightly. All he can do for a second is blink in awe at the back of the newcomer’s head. A head that, he feels he should mention, is encased by a helmet very similar to the ones the rest of these monochromatic assholes are wearing. Actually, her whole uniform is almost identical, except for the noticeable contrast of her body armor. The intruder’s looks sleeker and easier to move around in, and instead of being that pristine, clinical white he’s become almost depressingly used to, all the pieces are painted a deep, shiny black.

Still, despite the differences, none of it bodes well for his plan to slip out of here with Fiona in tow unnoticed. Although the newcomer _did_ more or less just save his life, or at least the use of his leg. Which is... confusing. Yeah, confused is a good word to describe what he’s feeling right now.

Warren shakes off the rest of her fall and sits up on her elbows, apparently only just now noticing the intruder if the way she jumps and frantically scoots backwards along the ground to cower against a nearby tree trunk is anything to go by.

“Ei- Ei- Ei-” She’s stammering so badly that she can’t even get past the first syllable of whatever she’s trying to say, not even bothering to get back on her feet and properly defend herself.

“ _You_!” Callam screeches from behind all of them, and before anyone can react, the sound of yet another gunshot _blasts_ through the clearing.

Warren startles, Rhys ducks his head instinctively and waits for the explosion of pain that thankfully never comes, and the palette-swapped stranger is gone in an instant. Vanishing without a trace, leaving nothing to indicate she was ever even here to begin with except for this vague... _itch_ , of all things, spanning from his right shoulder all the way across his chest.

But he forcibly shoves the distraction of that familiar sensation to the very back of his thoughts in favor of things far more important, like repositioning himself protectively between Fiona’s limp form and the fast-approaching sergeant. In doing so, however, he discovers that the intruder hasn’t really disappeared after all. She’s actually stalking dangerously right towards Callam like she has one hell of a bone to pick, dual short swords in hand.

Which Rhys has the capacity to be bewildered by, because he could have sworn the blade she used to take out Ryker was longer and, uh... singular. But a quick glance over at the lifeless soldier’s body all but confirms it has to be the same weapon in some effect, as the longsword that had previously been planted firmly in his back is gone.

Callam reverses direction as the intruder draws closer, backing away and holding the trigger of their pistol all the way down to open fire in a relentless assault. Even so, the intruder pushes forward with confidence, dancing around some of the rounds with inhuman speed and effortlessly deflecting others to the side with her blades. She closes the rest of the distance between herself and the sergeant inside of a heartbeat, and in the time it takes for Rhys to blink once, she’s already raised an arm overhead and brought it back down with enough force to disarm Callam for good. Both metaphorically and in the more... literal sense.

The immediate spray of blood is gruesome enough for Rhys to have to look away, but that doesn’t stop him from grimacing unconsciously at the high-pitched _shriek_ of rage and agony the sergeant lets out as they sink to the ground, defeated.

“Honestly,” the intruder says casually, offhandedly, almost like she’s _bored_. “What a bloody waste of ammo.”

Callam hunches over, forcibly choking off their scream to just silently tremble in barely contained fury. They eventually spit out between gasps for air and gritted teeth, “What the... What the fuck even _are_ you?”

The intruder tuts once and reholsters her swords- which mostly involves attaching both hilts at the ends and doing something to cause the blades to retract into the merged handle by themselves- before grabbing Callam by the shoulders to haul them up to their feet.

“I think you already know what I am,” the intruder tells the sergeant, dragging them back towards the center of the clearing with ease even as the smaller soldier twists and struggles in her grasp. “But I suppose a reminder wouldn’t hurt.”

The intruder doesn’t even give Callam a chance to respond. She just shoves them down hard enough to send them sprawling back onto the ground right in front of the still-frozen energy cells that were intended to hit Fiona.

Then, all at once, whatever was holding them in place just... releases.

And all five bolts continue along their predetermined trajectory to hit Callam directly in the center of their helmet, the combined energy powerful enough to melt right through the plating and kill them on impact.

Their body falls backwards, hitting the ground with a dull _thud_. Everybody sort of just... watches the sergeant’s head liquefy in their helmet for a minute, settling into the crushing, shell-shocked silence.

And then the intruder snaps her fingers and sighs at herself like she just realized something disappointing. “Shit. I didn’t think that line all the way through, did I? Bit of a painful reminder after all, that.”

Warren lets out this stifled wheeze like she’s on the verge of hyperventilating, trying to force herself even flatter against the tree trunk she’s cringing up against and starting to sputter all over again. “Ei- Ei- Eido- Eido-”

The intruder spins on her heel to face the teeny soldier with faint interest, not even acknowledging Rhys where he’s still standing off to the side in front of Fiona. Which, actually, now that he thinks about it, is probably a _good_ thing. Maybe he should just...

The second he begins edging around to continue pulling Fiona towards the relative safety of the trees, the intruder’s head cranes around to look straight at him. He has no idea what kind of face she’s making underneath that helmet, but he can only imagine it as the textbook definition of a death glare because one single, threatening step towards him is all it takes to stop him right in his tracks.

“You,” she asserts commandingly as she jabs a finger in his direction. “Don’t move.”

Rhys nods vigorously, knees suddenly too weak to keep walking even if he wanted to. Yep, yeah, totally, no problem. Escaping one hostage situation only to wind up right smack in the middle of another is, like, exactly what he was hoping would happen. This is fine. He’s fine with this.

The intruder turns back to where Warren is still huddling against her tree and spluttering nonsensically, giving it a full minute before eventually stooping down in front of her with a sigh. “What’s your name, Recruit?”

Now that the intruder’s attention is on her, Warren shuts up instantly, though she’s still shaking like a leaf.

The intruder heaves another heavy breath and shifts her weight on her heels. “You have got one, don’t you? A name, that is?”

“Warren,” the recruit manages to spit out, probably sensing the impatience in the intruder’s tone. “It’s- It’s Livia Warren, s-sir. Eidolon. Sir.” She hesitates for a beat before adding, “P-Please don’t- Please don’t kill me.”

“Kill you?” the intruder echoes, like the notion hadn’t even occurred to her. Then she spares a quick look over her shoulder at the two other soldiers she’s already eliminated before turning back to Warren with an understanding nod. “Ah. Right. Looks can be deceiving, I suppose.”

Uh. Rhys doesn’t know what she thinks is so deceiving about the way she just murdered those assholes without even breaking a sweat, but okay. As far as he’s concerned, Warren has every right to be fearing for her life right now. He would be too if he was also a huuuge dick part of some huuuge dick organization and just watched his huuuge dick coworkers die horrible, dickish deaths right in front of him.

The intruder sits back a little and drums her fingers on her knee, seemingly deep in thought. And since she’s not currently disappearing into thin air or massacring anybody execution-style, Rhys figures he might as well take the opportunity to study her more closely, given that there’s still the big mystery of who she is and why the hell she’s even here in the first place. Her uniform is clearly Orcus- that much he gathered from before- but the likelihood that she’s actually affiliated with them seems pretty damn low, all things considered. She’s probably either acting alone or on behalf of... some group other than Orcus. He’s not sure which is scarier.

She also looks rather... well, _rugged_ is one of the first words that comes to mind. She has what looks like an assault rifle slung across her back, the paint dull and starting to fade. A cropped leather jacket covers her torso, zipped up over her body armor with the sleeves rolled to her elbows and the material fraying at every seam. She’s also wearing this... scarf? Collar? Thing? Rhys isn’t really sure what it is, but it’s tucked under the jacket and comes up to just beneath her chin, with the outside of the garment colored a deep, rich purple and the inside a lighter lilac hue. Both ends of the scarf portion trail along the ground behind her, all tattered and stained along the edges.

Even if it weren’t for her obvious additions to the whole getup, it would be plain to see that even the standard issued parts are falling into disrepair. Her armor is scratched to hell and back, from the most superficial of scrapes to gouges so deep that all the buffing in the world wouldn’t do any good to get them out. Some pieces are just chipped and damaged but others are missing altogether- namely her left glove and arm guard. Even the fabric of her undersuit is nowhere to be seen in that area, evidently having been torn off somewhere higher up beneath her coat or maybe just pushed up out of the way. To compensate, she has what looks like handwraps going all the way up the length of her forearm and under her jacket sleeve, leaving just her fingers bare. Her skin is dark and her nails are painted almost the same dusky purple as the outside of her scarf thing, and even from here he can see faint scars crisscrossing over the backs of her knuckles.

But even after having said all that, Rhys is still no closer to solving the enigma of her true identity. Although at this point he’s pretty sure that whatever her motivations were for intervening here, she must want something from him. Or from Fiona. Or from a combination of both of them. He can’t think of any other reason why she would have bothered to save their lives and then snap at him all menacingly to park his ass and stay put when he tried to clear out early.

So. That’s not exactly... reassuring.

The intruder eventually starts talking to Warren again, this time too quiet for Rhys to hear. It makes him a little nervous, he’ll admit, but he also somehow doubts they’re plotting his demise or whatever, since Warren has only balked at every sign of violence so far and the intruder could probably just impale him on her sword before he’d even have a chance to do anything about it if she felt inclined to do so.

...He should probably count himself luckier than she _hasn’t_ , in fact, felt inclined to do so.

Still, the longer they continue on with their hushed conversation, the antsier Rhys gets. He can’t help but cast anxious glances back over his shoulder at Fiona periodically, who’s still lying listless on the ground and showing no sign of lucidity. It very quickly gets to the point where his concern for her starts to outweigh his fear of being impaled, and he’s about to drop to his knees beside her to try stirring her back to wakefulness again when the intruder up and disappears just like before.

He hardly even has time to be confused about it- or wonder why the hell he keeps getting _itchy_ every time she does it- before she reappears again in the exact same spot not even a split second later. If he’d blinked, he might have missed the whole thing. She has something in her hands now, which she shows to Warren, and they talk for maybe a minute longer before the intruder straightens back up and holds out an arm to help Warren to her feet. Which, surprisingly, she actually takes after only a moment’s hesitation.

Rhys can’t help but squint at the exchange. And he only squints harder when the intruder pats Warren on the back in a way he might even describe as _amicable_ before the tiny soldier starts picking her way towards the far end of the clearing. She turns just before she reaches the treeline, looking back at the intruder and bringing her fist up to her chest in a salute.

“Thank you, Eidolon. I won’t- I won’t forget this.”

The intruder tilts her head at Warren in response, one hand fisted at her hip. Then she nods and returns the salute, and Warren spins back around to vanish into the thicket.

Rhys blinks a few times, briefly considering the possibility that this is all some type of trick. “You... let her go. I don’t- Why did you...?”

The intruder sighs as she relaxes out of her salute and rolls her neck around. “Ugh, god. I don’t know, really. I just wanted her to shut up. She kept going on and on about her stupid brothers and how the only reason she even took this job was to support them all now that good old mum and dad bought the farm.”

Rhys just looks at her blankly.

She throws her hands up in exasperation. “Dead. They’re dead. Checked out. Deceased. No longer of this world.”

He shakes his head slowly. “No, I got that, I just-”

“I think she said skull shivers? I dunno. I stopped listening halfway through. Still, nasty way to go, that.” She lets out another heavy breath, considering the spot where Warren disappeared. “Felt a little bad for her, I suppose. Well, before I got tired of listening to her talk, anyway.”

He... guesses that makes sense? Assuming she was even telling the truth. Rhys fumbles for the words for a minute, too many questions fighting to be asked first, before he finally just settles on, “And you- You’re sure she wasn’t just lying to you? Spinning some sob story so she could slip away and come back with reinforcements?”

The intruder finally turns to regard him fully, cocking her head to the side in... maybe amusement? The helmet makes it really hard to tell. “And aren’t you just the little worrywart.”

She tosses something in his direction that he moves to catch instinctively.

“I don’t know what rock you were hiding under when I took care of Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber,” she jerks her head over towards the two corpses strewn in the middle of the grove, “but these halfwits don’t scare me any. And if that girl knows what’s good for her, she’ll take her brothers and make off with what I gave her without ever looking back.”

Rhys opens his fingers to look at what she threw at him. It’s... an AION chip reader, just like the device Ezra gave him and Fiona back when they were still trying to get off Nona the legal and expensive way. But what are the chances she would have one that looks exactly like...

Wait a minute.

Rhys glances back at Fiona, who’d been the one hanging on to the damn thing, and then up at the intruder again, mouth agape. “Did you- Is this- How did you-”

“You- I- What did- How are you-” she mocks his stutter before snorting and moving her head in a way that gives him the impression she just rolled her eyes. “I could explain the specifics, but all you need to know is that I’m very gifted. And I solved everybody’s problems, yeah? I saved your sorry arses, two amoral bastards are dead, and little Livia’s off to shed her corporate shackles and go, uh... I dunno, what do Decimans do for fun? Swing on vines? Throw stuff into volcanoes to watch it melt?” She thinks about it for another second and then shrugs. “Well, either way, it’s a win-win-win. So I think most people would just say thank you.”

“ _Thank_ you?” Rhys repeats dubiously as he stashes the reader in his pocket.

“You’re welcome,” she says with this teasing lilt to her voice that tells him she totally took that the wrong way on purpose.

So. It’s official. He has absolutely no idea what’s going on anymore.

Or what to think. Or how to _feel_ , even. Because on one hand, she’s right. She saved both his and Fiona’s lives big time. If she hadn’t shown up when she did, he’d be nursing a gunshot wound to the calf right now, and Fiona...

He shakes his head to himself, just... trying to wrap his head around it all. He still doesn’t understand what happened, exactly, or how the intruder was even able to stop those energy cells from hitting Fiona in the first place. Because, okay, sure, her weird vanishing acts and frightening speed and agility and neat if not mechanically confusing sword(s?) are all strange and bizarre in their own right, but he’s seen it before, sort of. The only reason he’s not having some existential déjà vu spell right now is because she doesn’t speak in haikus.

But the whole... freezing a bullet midfire thing? That’s new. And there’s no question that she was the one responsible for it, unless he’s supposed to believe that all five of them just so happened to release from their suspension in tandem right as the intruder threw Callam into their path.

And the fact that she’s so clearly dangerous- or _gifted_ , as she put it- should prooobably be scaring the shit out of him a little more right now. Don’t get him wrong, his body is definitely on red alert and throwing out ‘get away from the murderess’ signals left and right. Hammering pulse, sweaty palms... Sweaty _everything_ , actually, but that might just be because it’s so, you know, hot out here.

But she hasn’t made any move to attack him. Or Fiona, for that matter, who is way more vulnerable right now than he is. The intruder could overpower them both, easy, and the fact that she _hasn’t_ is telling of... something. He’s not sure what yet, but something.

Rhys folds his arms over his chest, opening and closing his mouth a few times before starting slowly, “Eidolon... That’s what that recruit called you. Is that- Is that your name?”

The intruder mirrors his stance but with markedly more sass than he feels like he did it with. “Hardly. It’s... a title of sorts. For people like me.” She cants her head to the side. “But I suppose you wouldn’t know that, would you?”

Uh. Obviously not, otherwise he wouldn’t have asked. He kind of wants to tell her that, but there’s so many ways that being snarky in such a precarious situation could go wrong. He settles on making a face at her instead.

She doesn’t respond to that other than leaning to the side. And then she abruptly informs him, “Incoming.”

His funny face turns into a scoff. “What the hell is that supposed to mea-”

He’s cut short by this muted _thunk_ coming from somewhere behind him. Then something whistles through the air, sailing right past his ear to just barely miss the intruder and bury itself in a tree trunk at the opposite end of the clearing.

Rhys studies it for a second, not immediately recognizing what it is. There’s something dripping off of it though, something... oozy. And bright, fluorescent green.

The realization hits him a moment later, and he spins around just in time to nearly get a throwing knife to the face. But then his shoulder starts itching again and the intruder is all of a sudden standing in front of him instead of halfway on the other side of the grove, short swords at the ready and dropping into a defensive stance against their attacker.

Or... _her_ attacker, since he’s pretty sure he’s not Flick’s true target. They wouldn’t try to maim him on purpose. Probably.

“Hey, um, guys?” he begins uncertainly to maybe diffuse the situation before it erupts into something worse. This is clearly all just... a big misunderstanding. He thinks. Hopefully.

But neither one of them pay him any mind. Flick throws out two more knives back from the cover of the trees- and the intruder deflects them just as easily- before jumping out of the brush to rush her with that weird, dual-bladed dagger of theirs in hand. They’re fast, but she’s much, _much_ faster, blocking every swing and jab without difficulty to quickly turn the tides of the skirmish in her favor.

“Guys,” he tries again, backing up towards Fiona to keep them from running her over. “This isn’t really-”

“Will you! Shut! Up!” Flick growls between gritted teeth as they fight on desperately, to which he can only roll his eyes. Okay, fine, whatever. If they want to get their ass handed to them, then they can go right on ahead. The intruder is obviously holding back- he can tell solely from fact that the kid is even still alive to snap at him all rude-like- and it’s not like he’s prepared to throw himself between the two, so he guesses he’ll just stand here and watch this disaster unfold from the sidelines.

Thankfully, it doesn’t go on much longer due to the significant speed and size advantage the intruder has over Flick. She has them cornered in the blink of an eye, raising one sword up overhead before bringing it back down _hard_. Flick just barely gets their dagger up in time to block the blow, stumbling from the force of it and coming dangerously close to losing their footing.

“‘Fiat Justitia Ruat Caelum’,” the intruder reads off the inscription on their blade idly, not even a little out of breath while the kid is panting with exertion. “Huh. Very poetic.”

She brings her other sword around and sweeps their feet out from under them, and they land on their back with this sound like all the breath just got knocked right out of their lungs.

“ _Ow_ ,” they manage between gasps as they roll onto their side. “Touché... Orcus pig...”

The intruder reholsters her swords and takes a step back, allowing Rhys to edge closer. He has to fight a grin as he stoops down next to Flick, who’s coughing and wheezing and making other mostly failed attempts at breathing. “Hey, kid.”

“What’s... crackin’, uh... Denise?” they reply automatically, holding a hand to their chest. “What’s with... What’s with _her_?”

They jerk their chin in the intruder’s direction, who’s just nonchalantly observing this exchange go down like that’s not a totally weird thing to do. Rhys shakes his head, not really having a good answer to that question because he’s still not entirely sure himself, and turns back to the kid. “She’s... a friend? Maybe? Or something like that. I think. Probably.”

Flick gives him this look like he’s damn near lost his mind. He can’t say he blames them.

“But nothing’s really, uh, crackin’, so to speak,” he continues after a second, setting his elbow on his knee and leaning his chin into his hand. “Just hanging out, getting shot at, watching my life flash before my eyes no less than three times in the past fifteen minutes alone. You know, the usual.” He pauses before adding, “Thanks for finally showing up, by the way. Better late than never.”

They sigh deeply, pushing their hair out of their face from where it’s gotten loose from its tie. “I don’t... have any coffee... if that’s what you’re going to ask me.”

He has no idea what gave them the impression he was going to ask that. He doesn’t even want to know.

“Well then!” The intruder plants her hands on her hips and turns to speak in the general direction Flick came from. “Now that _everyone’s_ here- and yes, I do mean everyone, even you two hiding in the trees back there. Don’t be shy now. Come on out.”

A beat passes before the bushes start rustling with movement. Isabel steps out first, slowly, hesitantly, followed shortly by Ezra, who has one of his pistols in hand and is mumbling something under his breath about, “Goddamn heat signatures.”

The intruder claps her hands together once those two come to a stop a safe distance away from her. “Perfect. Now, for introductions-”

“That won’t be necessary,” Isabel cuts in hastily, signing the conversation so Ezra can understand. “Your uniform and the condition of our friend tell us everything we need to know.”

The intruder seems confused momentarily before realization dawns on her. “Oh. Oh, no, no, no. You’ve misunderstood. See, I’m the blessed soul that _saved_ your friends from the big, bad boys in white. And you can thank _that_ git in particular,” she points an accusing finger at Callam’s corpse, “for the sorry state the pretty one is in. Asymmetric Jones over there can vouch for me, can’t you, mate?”

Everybody turns to look at Rhys. Except for Flick, who sits up straight and peers around his legs at where Fiona’s still lying unconscious on the ground. Evidently, they hadn’t noticed she was there before Isabel and Birdie brought it to their attention. They waste no time hopping to their feet and moving around him to kneel back down at her side so they can lapse into Doctor Dumbass mode, which he doesn’t feel the need to interfere with. They can probably do a lot more for her right now than he can.

Rhys flounders for a minute, watching the kid get to work and doing his best to swallow down the guilt that’s suddenly choking off his airway before finally settling on a stiff nod.

Isabel is not even remotely convinced if the face she makes as she turns back to the intruder is anything to go by. “Well. Whoever you might be-”

“Darling, I’m so glad you asked,” the intruder talks over her, “since I was _just_ getting to that before I was so rudely interrupted. Hence the whole ‘now, for introductions’ bit. Not a very good listener, I take it?”

Isabel narrows her eyes. “It’s not wise to throw stones in glass houses.”

“That’s alright, dear, we all have our flaws,” the intruder continues on, which pretty much solidifies Isabel’s point. “Anywho,” she gestures towards herself, “Aviana Birdsong, at your service. Former Eidolon and Commander to the First Orcus Federation Starfleet, Sector Double Nil. Quite the mouthful, I’m aware, so most everybody just calls me Birdie. ‘Goddess Aviana’, ‘My Eternal Love’, and ‘Your Majesty’ are also all perfectly acceptable.” She mocks a bow before standing back up again with a flourish. “Please hold your applause.”

Everybody sort of just... stares blankly at her for a moment.

And then Flick bursts into obnoxiously loud laughter.

“Did you- Did you say your-” they rasp out between cackles as all four of them turn around to face where they’re sitting by Fiona. “Your name is _Aviana Birdsong_?”

“I did,” Birdie says slowly, this faint note of suspicion creeping into her tone. “What about it?”

Flick starts laughing harder. “What- What kind of- What kind of name is-” They cut themselves off with a shake of their head, burying their face in their palms in an attempt to smother the giggles. “Ohhh my god. Oh my god. I can’t- I just- I can’t even take you seriously. What kind of _name_ -”

Birdie shifts her weight from one foot to the other. It’s getting harder and harder by the second not to imagine her pouting sulkily beneath that helmet. “Yes, well. Have your laugh, then. Though I’m not quite sure what’s so bleeding funny about it, but don’t let that stop you.”

“Are you- _Seriously_? You don’t even- You’re not- Oh my god. I just- Oh my god. Okay.” The kid takes a second to choke back their laughter and catch their breath, clearing their throat a few times before reiterating, “Your name is _Aviana_. _Birdsong_.”

Birdie turns to Rhys with a heavy sigh. “Has this one got short term memory loss or are they just slow?”

Flick waves their hands to get her attention again before he can answer that question. Probably better that way. “I just- I just mean... _Aviana_. As in avian. As in flying. As in birds. And your last- And your last name is-”

They dissolve back into breathless laughter as everybody makes various noises of understanding. Isabel rolls her eyes, although Ezra at least looks somewhat entertained. No one seems to find it as funny as the kid does though, even as they keep cackling and flop down onto their back again before pointing a finger in Birdie’s direction.

“You- You’re like- Your name is like the equivalent of _Moon Moon_.” They wheeze so hard it kind of sounds like they’re drowning. “Commander Moon Moon of the Stars. I’m just- I can’t- Like, oooh, so scary! I’m just _shaking_ in my boots!”

Rhys snorts before he can stop himself and then does a really shitty job of covering it up with a cough. Birdie gives him this dirty look- or, well, he thinks she gives him a dirty look. There’s no real way to tell, but it definitely has the petulant energy of one.

“Are you quite finished?” she asks Flick icily when their snickers don’t die down after a minute or two.

They shake their head, sitting back up and wiping at their eyes with their sleeve. “No- No, yeah, I’m done. Sorry if I hurt your feelings, Moon Moon.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You got it, Moon Moon.”

“I’m sorry,” Isabel cuts in before that argument has a chance to go absolutely nowhere, “but are we all going to ignore the fact that this transient just openly admitted to being both an Eidolon and a commander of Orcus forces?”

“ _Former_ , on both charges,” Birdie corrects flippantly. “And ‘transient’? Really? What a shame. I had such high hopes for us, you know. I thought we could be so much more than just a fling.”

Isabel folds her arms in front of her with a huff. “Oh, did you now? Should I tell you exactly where you can shove those hopes or would you like to figure it out on your own?”

“I think I have an idea. Not my cup of tea, though, personally. Just a forewarning.”

Isabel makes this disgusted sound in the back of her throat, much to Birdie’s apparent delight.

“Right then,” she says before Isabel can get another word in edgewise. “Moving on. Despite outward appearances, I’m no Orcus lapdog. Cut those ties long ago, believe me. And I don’t particularly care to turn you lot in to them either, though the reward out for your capture is, let’s just say, _obscenely_ generous. The likes of what you did in Fides haven’t been seen in this system since, well, ever, really. Rebellions just don’t happen here. And such widespread devastation to Orcus infrastructure... Very impressive considering there’s only five of you.”

Rhys thinks that might be... a compliment? Hard to tell. Ezra seems to take it as one though, looking so pleased with himself that Isabel smacks him lightly on the arm. But Rhys supposes that makes sense- he was the one that had the inside access they needed to pull the mission off in the first place, not to mention doing all that footwork to set the bombs.

But hold on, how does _Birdie_ know about any of this? Was she in Fides when the shields went up? That doesn’t seem likely. They took all those extra measures to make sure they wouldn’t be followed after taking off and nearly killed themselves in the process, so following their trail from Nona should have been near impossible.

“I am here,” Birdie starts again before he can reach a conclusion, or even mull it over enough to be able to hazard a feasible guess, “on behalf of certain parties. Who have a special interest in your... unique situation. I’ve been assigned to secure all five of you, of course, should you feel so disposed to save yourselves from the living hell that comes with being wanted fugitives in such a highly militant star system. But our main concern,” she turns to face him and Fiona, “is with you two. And your involvement in the, ah, _events_ that transpired on Nona three weeks ago, if you catch my drift. My guy in the sky went nuts over those energy readings, let me tell you. He’ll no doubt start short circuiting in excitement, getting to hear about what happened straight from the horses’ mouths and all.”

The... what? She just said so many confusing things in a row that Rhys isn’t sure which one he should be focusing on first.

But. Wait a minute. Events? Three weeks ago? Wasn’t that when...

Rhys does the math in his head. And then he does it again. And then a third time, repeating the process over and over because surely, he must be doing it wrong. There must be some kind of _mistake_.

But he isn’t, and there’s not. There’s no question.

She’s talking about the Vault.

He looks over at Flick, who’s lost any and all trace of hysterical amusement. They’ve figured it out too, but one brief shake of their head when he catches their eye tells him that they don’t have any more of a clue than he does. But it can’t all be coincidence, can it? Somehow, Birdie knows about what happened in Fides, _and_ that he and Fiona opened the Vault of the Traveler before being spat out on some backwash desert planet forty-three years later. Or, well, okay, maybe she doesn’t know the whole story in its entirety, but she clearly knows _something_. Which still doesn’t give him the warm fuzzies.

She’s watching him carefully, head tilted slightly to the side. And then she sighs and clasps her hands in front of her. “I suspect you have questions.”

“Oh, you- you think?” Rhys laughs without humor, shaking his head. “I just- I’m not sure I understand how-”

“And I’ll be happy to explain,” she interrupts, “but we’re short on time, I’m afraid. Not to mention I would much rather be as far away as possible when those two start to stink.”

She jerks her head over towards Callam and Ryker’s bodies. Isabel doesn’t pay the corpses any mind, looking between him and Flick like she’s trying to figure something out, but Ezra spares a passing glance and then a double take before turning back to Birdie.

“Standard procedure for patrols is three per squad,” he starts slowly, “and I only see two, so... What did you do with the third one?”

Birdie shrugs with one shoulder, hooking her thumbs through her belt. “I cut her loose.”

“You did _what_?” Isabel, Ezra, and Flick all say at the exact same time, which is kind of freaky. They even do it with the same inflection and everything.

Birdie sighs and crosses her arms in front of her defensively. “Oh, don’t give me any of that. Like I was trying to explain to my good pal here before you three decided to show your faces, she was getting on my last nerve. Yapping on and on about her family and how this job was the only one that paid enough to ensure they wouldn’t starve. It was depressing. And annoying. And I got sick of listening to it, frankly, so I fixed her money issue and sent her on her merry way.”

“So, you bribed her,” Flick summarizes flatly.

“Look, I saw the opportunity for an alternative solution and I took it, yeah? I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

“The opportunity?” Isabel repeats. “You don’t mean...”

“That’s right, that little doodad of theirs. The... The thingamajiggy. With all those AION profile codes on it. Popped right up on my SOCK display when I came into range. Now, I don’t know what you were planning on using all that data for- or why that one was even carrying such a thing on her person in the first place- but it was just the quick fix I needed to wrap everything up all nice and tidy. What else was I supposed to do? Not use it?”

“Yes,” Isabel spits furiously. “That’s _exactly_ what you should have done. Because facilitating those transfers to save the life of one misguided fool might have just cost the rest of us ours. Accessing the AION in any effect sends pings to the network servers, which Orcus is no doubt monitoring very carefully in an effort to locate us.”

“Oh,” Birdie says, like that hadn’t occurred to her even though she evidently used to work for these assholes. And then she goes, “Hold on, I’ve got it.”

She turns to march right up to Rhys, who, naturally, starts backing up before she even gets to the point of invading his personal space. But she’s quicker, swooping in and, uh, sticking her hand in his pocket- which is weird, this is so, _so_ weird- but before he can, like, shove her off or something, she’s already found what she’s looking for. She steps back with the chip reader in hand, spinning around to show Isabel.

Then she winds her arm back and chucks the thing full force at a tree, shattering it to pieces on impact.

Birdie plants her hands on her hips with a satisfied huff. “There. Problem solved.”

Isabel looks like she’s about to burst a blood vessel. “That- That’s not- That doesn’t even _begin_ to fix the problem! The ping has already been sent, you idiot! All you’ve done is destroy a one-of-a-kind prototype that I spent weeks- no, _months_ perfecting, and now all my hard work has just- it’s all-” She ducks her chin, hands balling up into fists at her sides. “You negligent, irresponsible, absolute cretinous _bitch_.”

“Oooh, public humiliation _and_ name calling? Now that’s definitely more my thing. Tell me more about how stupid and useless I am, sweetheart. Really gets me going.”

“Shut. Up.”

“Ah, well. That works too.”

Those two keep going at it while Ezra stands by looking somewhat confused but mostly annoyed since Isabel is no longer signing the conversation for him. And as amusing as all that is, Rhys also doesn’t give a big huge shit about it, considering all it’s accomplishing is wasting even more of their time.

He gives it a minute and then decides to take his chances on clearing his throat and metaphorically butting in to the middle of their spat to say, “Can we wrap this up please? Maybe? Is that a thing we can do? Because the sun’s going to set soon and I really don’t think-”

“Alright team, enough chit chat, let’s get moving!” Birdie claps her hands together and starts talking before he’s even finished, which might have bothered him more if she wasn’t agreeing with him. “Boyo’s right; it’s not long until sundown now and I’d prefer it if we made camp someplace even just a teeensy bit more defensible, so-”

“Absolutely not,” Isabel shuts her down immediately. “You’re not coming anywhere with us. Whoever you are-”

“Name’s Birdie. We’ve been through this.”

“-and whoever you work for-”

“Certain parties. Been through this one as well.”

“None of it matters,” Isabel says cooly. “You’re incompetent and untrustworthy. I believe I speak for everyone here when I say that you’re not welcome to accompany us any further on our journey.”

“Actually,” Rhys cuts in, making everybody suddenly turn to look at him. He falters at suddenly being caught in the spotlight, stalling a little by fidgeting with his sleeves and carding his fingers through his hair. “I... think we should give her a chance? Or- Or at least, um, listen more to what she has to say. I mean, she saved our lives, for one. That has to count for something. And I’m... pretty interested in these ‘certain parties’ she keeps talking about. Plus everything else. So.”

Isabel blinks a few times, incredulous. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Aw, I _knew_ I liked you for a reason!” Birdie snaps her fingers and starts walking towards him with her arms spread wide. “Come here, mate. Bring it on in.”

He takes one very large step away from her. “I, uh, think I’ll take a hard pass on that one, thanks.”

Isabel watches the two of them for a moment before she turns to Ezra with a huff. “Zeezee, say something.”

“Um, like what?” he wonders, folding his arms in front of him. “I don’t even know what any of you are talking about anymore because _someone_ stopped signing it for me and this damn thing in my eye is still only working about seventeen percent of the time. And that’s just the latest estimate. It’s starting to feel like less, so it might have dropped even more. Actually, I was hoping you could run another round of tests on it once it stops glitching out enough for me to-”

“Alright, enough,” she interrupts, waving a hand dismissively before turning to address the kid. “Flick?”

They’re still working on Fiona, and they make this funny face when Isabel calls them out that she probably can’t see from where she’s standing. But Rhys definitely doesn’t miss it. “Uh, don’t look at me. I’m not going to back you up just because you’re throwing a fit over Commander Moon Moon breaking your toy. Two Orcus jackoffs are dead because of her-”

“And she let the other one go,” Isabel points out. “Or did you already forget?”

Flick rolls their eyes. “Whatever, Issa. I’m not saying I trust her. I’m not even saying any of us _should_. I’m just saying this situation could have turned out a lot worse than getting saddled with an unwelcome tagalong that obviously had a change of heart and isn’t loyal to Orcus anymore, otherwise she wouldn’t have saved our friends in the first place. If Katrice wants her to stick around, then I don’t see a reason to disagree. Even if it does seem like a pretty bad idea.” They glance up at Rhys momentarily and then look away again, shrugging. “I trust his judgement. Sort of.”

Wow. That... might be the closest thing to a compliment he’s ever going to get from them. If it can even be counted as a compliment rather than just something that should be expected after having been through so much shit together.

Isabel seems to chew that over for a minute before she heaves a sigh and throws her hands up in exasperation. “Fine. Fine! Clearly, everyone else is on the same page and I’m just being irrational for feeling disinclined to fraternize with the enemy. What could _possibly_ go wrong by allowing a high-ranking Orcus officer to overstay her welcome?”

“Former,” Birdie chimes in as she idly examines the nails on her left hand. “Like I said, I quit a long time ago. Or went AWOL, really. If it’s any consolation, I’d imagine that they want to find me even more than they want to find the five of you combined.”

Now _that’s_ interesting. Rhys would love to know more since it would be helpful to know the extent of her association- or lack thereof- with Orcus, but they have bigger problems to tackle so he puts a pin in it for now. And with the issue of whether or not she’s even sticking with the group squared away, the six of them start making preparations to move.

Er. Five. Because Fiona’s still... Well. Yeah.

Which actually winds up posing a unique problem. Flick makes it very clear that while she’s stable and not in any serious danger of heaving her last, dragging her on the ground for the duration of their trek isn’t an option. Someone has to carry her so she doesn’t end up injured more severely than she already is.

The kid is out for obvious reasons. Ezra also quickly passes the torch along. Which leaves just Rhys, Isabel, and Birdie. Obviously, he’s the first to volunteer, but the second he gets his arms under her and attempts to stand up again, his knees pop and his back makes this noise that sounds vaguely like, “Nice try, asswipe, but maybe you should leave the big boy lifting to the people who actually have a shot at it and just take a goddamned seat.”

And it’s not that she’s _heavy_ , because she isn’t, not really. He’s just... extremely out of shape. The stupid kid was right about the muscle mass thing after all. Dammit.

So it’s down to Isabel and Birdie. Both options? Pretty terrible, he has to admit. One less so than the other, he guesses, but only by a very small margin. Sure, he only just met Birdie, like, twenty minutes ago while she was shoving her sword into a guy with all the finesse of someone who’s been doing things like that for years. Decades, even, maybe. It’s kind of hard to tell how old she is with the helmet and all.

But Isabel has this weird... _thing_ for Fiona. The whole blatantly flirting with her right in front of him bit that was old the first time she did it so now it’s edging on downright ancient. And also the way she looks at her sometimes, like she thinks he doesn’t notice. Or maybe she just doesn’t care. Or maybe she doesn’t even know it bothers him, or that it’s a rude thing to do in the first place. After all, one of the first things Fiona said when they all met is that they weren’t together, and it’s not like either one of them has amended that ever since things... changed. It’s not really anybody else’s business anyway, so why bother?

But... now is probably not the time to be creepily obsessing over this. It’s pretty pathetic that he’s let it get under his skin so badly that he’s seriously considering letting a dangerous stranger get in close quarters with the most important person in his life when there’s already a more familiar and much safer alternative standing right there trying not to look offended at how long he’s taking to choose.

Besides, Isabel is already agitated enough as it is because of the newest addition to their party. He gets the feeling he’d be better off not pouring gasoline all over that particular fire, so. There. Decision made. And with minimal hurt feelings to boot, because Birdie could not more clearly care less about it if she tried. He’s starting to get the impression that’s just kind of her thing. Being all laidback and fresh out of shits to give. Weird, since Flick, Ezra, and Isabel have all had really strong and overbearing opinions on just about everything and have made no attempts to hide it, but also refreshing, in a way. It’s nice to get a reprieve from the... intensity of those three. Or whatever the hell you want to call it.

Before they leave the grove, Rhys stops to grab Fiona’s hat off the ground from where it must have fallen off sometime during this whole encounter. Maybe when those Orcus assholes dragged her here to begin with. He also gathers up the remnants of Isabel’s chip reader, even though it’s pretty thoroughly busted. He’s not confident it’ll ever be functional again, but he might as well take a whack at fixing it when he has the time.

Flick, as always, takes the lead, followed by Ezra, then Birdie, then Isabel and Fiona, and finally Rhys. Although Birdie winds up cutting in front of Ezra after a while to give the kid pointers on which way they should head and what kind of spot they should be looking for to make camp, which Flick mostly ignores. Still, they eventually find a spot a good distance away from the clearing against the sheer, craggy wall of a ravine that everyone can agree is good enough, although Ezra voices some concern that they might get cornered should more Orcus scouts happen across the group.

“Oh, don’t you worry any about that,” Birdie tells him while Flick signs her words so he can understand. “The only reason you even ran into those trench monkeys is because there’s a training outpost a few kilometers to the west. They don’t send patrols out this far unless they have good reason to. Terrain’s too hard to navigate.”

Two soldiers winding up dead and a third vanishing into the wilderness without a trace seems like something that would be considered good reason to send more troops out past their established territory, but Rhys doesn’t get the chance to say as much before Birdie is turning away to go inspect some of the nearby trees. She quickly finds one that’s acceptable for whatever she’s trying to do and starts pulling herself up the trunk, using the branches as foot and handholds and disappearing into the canopy while the four on the ground are left to stare after her until the leaves grow still again.

Ezra blows out a heavy breath, shaking his head. “ _Eidolons_.”

“What... is she doing up there, do you think?” Rhys wonders as he watches Flick and Isabel wander off a ways to get Fiona situated between all the roots and vines crisscrossing over the grass.

Ezra doesn’t immediately respond to that, evidently not having noticed Rhys was talking. Rhys touches him lightly on the arm to get his attention and gestures up towards the tree Birdie climbed into, hoping that’s enough to convey his confusion.

“I... think she might be setting up to keep watch?” Ezra guesses with a shrug. “This sort of thing is what Eidolons are trained for. Long range combat and surveillance are specialties of theirs, alongside stealth and the use of Peacekeepers. That gun on her back is actually an Orcus Last Hope- assault and sniper rifles all in one, very powerful and _very_ rare. They’re normal weapons, of course, but they’re also something like... merit badges. For being extra talented at assassinating people.” Ezra looks over at Rhys with one eyebrow raised. “So I guess it’s a good thing she’s on our side, then.”

Okay, all he wanted was to know why she was suddenly honing in to her squirrelish instincts, not get stuck listening to some rambling explanation about things he doesn’t care about. But at least all that exposition provides a little more insight as to what Eidolons even are in the first place, which he guesses is pretty useful.

So. She’s an assassin. That makes sense, all things considered. Although he doesn’t really know why they don’t just _call_ themselves that instead of having some obscure, pretentious title for it. Must be an Orcus thing, just- having stupid names for everything. Whoever’s in charge of that should definitely lose their job.

Since interrogating Birdie about what she knows and how she knows it is out of the question for the time being- unless he feels like trying to scramble his way up into that tree with her, which he doesn’t- Rhys decides to meander over towards where Flick is now attempting to pry off the cuffs that are still binding Fiona’s wrists together behind her back. Isabel retreats to go sit with Ezra nearby as Rhys sets Fiona’s hat aside and takes a seat directly opposite the kid. He offers what help he can, but unfortunately, there’s not a whole hell of a lot either one of them can do when those things are locked up tight.

After a dutiful effort on Flick’s part, Birdie unexpectedly throws them a bone in the form of the key to the cuffs, tossing it down from her spot in the treetops because apparently, she’s just been holding on to the damn thing this entire time. She must have nabbed it from Warren at some point before bribing her off. The key hits Flick on the temple with a _thwap_ and falls right into their lap, and they proceed to spend no less than five minutes huffing and puffing and stomping their foot at the base of Birdie’s tree while she just cackles so hard that all the branches start shaking with it.

Rhys is running his fingers through Fiona’s hair by the time Flick sulks back over, trying to smooth out all the knots and break up chunks where blood has dried and turned the strands dry and crusty.

“Careful,” they warn him as they kneel down on her other side again to unlock the cuffs and pull them gently off her wrists. “Don’t go poking and prodding too much, alright? Her nose is broken pretty bad and I don’t want you making it any worse than it already is.”

Something starts gnawing at him from the inside, right in the center of his chest. Something so dark and twisted and _mournful_ that all he can manage is a weak, “Yeah. Okay.”

Flick must hear something off in his tone because they stop what they’re doing to glance up at him, concerned. And they open their mouth like they’re going to say something- or maybe even try to _comfort_ him, of all things- before thinking better of it and returning to their task without a word.

It’s not like anything they could have said would have made him feel better anyway. They’re efficient with their work at the very least; fast, but still attentive and thorough. No time to be wasted and no mistakes to be made. They spray down the slashes on her arms with another vial of that miracle medicine until they’re all scabbed over, then move on to setting her broken bones back into place. Just her nose and left wrist and a few cracked ribs on both sides. But they’ve seen worse, they tell him, so he doesn’t have to keep looking at her like they just broke the news that she has three months left to live. She’s going to be just fine in a day or two.

That still doesn’t stop this- this _pit_ from opening up in his chest cavity. This jagged hole that bleeds with everything he’s trying to keep tucked away and out of sight.

She wouldn’t even _be_ like this if it weren’t for him. He let his guard down and she suffered because of it. Got grabbed and hauled off and beaten within an inch of her life because he was too damn slow in finding her and too much of a coward to do anything to stop it once he did.

And maybe he’s just being melancholic for the sake of having something to whine about. Looking for any excuse to feel bad for himself so he doesn’t have to face the truth that, realistically, there was nothing he could have done to prevent this. Because when they were all standing toe to toe, guns drawn and three against one, what exactly was he supposed to do? Pull the trigger? Take the shot? And then what? He might have gotten one of them, two if he’d been quick about it, but whoever was left wouldn’t have hesitated returning fire. He’d have wound up with a bullet in his forehead and nothing else to show for it.

But self pity is easier. It’s more comforting than admitting to helplessness. To not having the ability to make a difference. It’s a selfish thing to do, pretending he had a choice and just made the wrong one, but it eases something in him in a way he can’t describe.

Because the thought of not having control is frightening. The thought that everything- every tiny little thing that’s happened to them and every tiny little thing that’s yet to come- the thought that it’s all independent of his will shakes him right down to his core. The thought of being a victim of circumstance, of being doomed to play the role of a bystander by fate or destiny or whatever powers that be...

It makes him feel... small.

And he doesn’t like that feeling. He doesn’t think anyone does. To come face to face with futility. To know that no matter how hard he may try to change it, some things will always be set in stone.

Rhys snorts humorlessly at himself and buries his face in his hands as the kid finishes up on Fiona, administering another vial- a shot this time instead of the mist- to mend her bones faster. If she could hear his thoughts right now, she’d probably be livid. Or, actually, scratch that, she _definitely_ would. She’d kick his ass to the moon and back, or maybe just rake him over the coals about how he needs to shut up and stop being such a goddamn wet blanket about everything. He made a bad call, so what? It happens. And she’s fine now- or, well, she’s going to be, so there’s no use agonizing over it because all it’s going to do is send him into a spiral.

And she’d be right, because it has. He’s in the spiral. He’s spiraling. He needs to snap out of it before the little rain cloud above his head swallows him whole because she’d never let him hear the end of it if _that_ happened. A feat easier said than done, but he tries anyway. For her.

Once Flick is finally satisfied, they pack up the rest of their stuff and leave him with Fiona to go sprawl out on the ground right between Isabel and Ezra on the other side of the glade. Their stupid cat must have made a reappearance at some point too; standing and stretching slowly as the trio makes themselves more comfortable before clambering into the kid’s lap to curl back up into a little ball once they grow still. He watches them for a while, how they all settle against each other, wondering if it’s hard to gravitate back together like that even with their combative differences almost constantly trying to drive them apart.

But then he glances down at Fiona, regarding her for a moment, just listening to her breathe. In and out, deep and slow. And he supposes it must be. In the words of a terribly overused cliche, love is a double edged sword. It’s rewarding, but difficult. Blissful at times, but overwhelmingly painful at others. It’s a fork in the path, a crossroads, a choice presented at every turn.

He doesn’t know how it is for those three. It’s probably not his place to ask.

But even through their ups and downs, he’s never once regretted his decision to love Fiona. Never. Not even now, when it’s proving rather problematic and cool indifference or even antipathy instead might have been more useful in saving him from all this grief and heartache.

But. Double edged sword, remember?

It’s also a pro and con thing. And even though this _sucks_ \- majorly, and on so many different levels he’s still struggling to come to terms with the full extent of it- the pros of loving her continue to vastly outweigh the cons. Although, are there even any real cons to speak of? Other than, like, getting all depressed and mopey because she got her ass kicked. Which barely counts. That sort of thing just comes with giving more than half a shit about someone in general.

He thinks on it for a minute, long and hard. Nope. He’s got nothing.

Fatigue starts to creep in soon after that now that all the excitement has started to die down. Rhys caaarefully rearranges Fiona so she can lay her head against his leg rather than having to use twigs and moss as a pillow, because really, that can’t be comfortable. Granted, his thigh likely isn’t much better, but at least this way she won’t wind up with even more dirt and grime streaked across her face.

He slouches back against a nearby tree trunk with a sigh, hand coming to rest lightly on her cheek and fingers moving through her hair. She still has blood on her, dried in patches and starting to flake. He rubs at it gently but there’s not much he can do about it without soap and water. Or at least water. After some deliberation, he grabs the canteen Flick left for the two of them and rolls down his sleeve to wet the hem with the liquid inside, rinsing off her face until she’s mostly clean.

Keyword being mostly. What she really needs is a _bath_. Hell, they probably all do. Sweating head to toe during all hours of the day really starts to take its toll on personal hygiene after a while.

Sometime between running his fingertips over the splotches of black and blue forming over every inch of her skin and trying to ignore the way his heart wrenches from the sight of it, he manages to doze off into a fitful slumber. But he doesn’t knock out cold like he has been lately, slivers of fragments of dreams returning to haunt him and leaving behind this _feeling_ \- this ache in his bones and this throb in his joints and this bitter aftertaste of malaise.

It’s so heavy and overwhelming that when Fiona starts thrashing around in his lap, he almost doesn’t even wake up. It still takes him a second to snap out of it, shaking off the last of the chill threading through his veins so he can open his eyes and see what’s going on.

She’s awake now, which he sort of already guessed; her eyes wide open and fingers clawing desperately at the ground in an attempt to push herself up. Rhys leans forward without even thinking about it because if she keeps that up, she’s going to end up hurting herself. He tries to catch her wrists with one hand and presses a calming touch to the side of her face with the other, but she jerks her head away from him reflexively, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she whips around like she’s trying to take in all of her surroundings at once.

She’s confused, he realizes, _scared_ , her last lucid memory probably being that of lying helpless on the ground and an evil asshole threatening to put a bullet in the back of her head.

“Fi,” he murmurs quietly, soothingly, doing his best to ignore how his heartstrings twinge and the tune turns sour with guilt. “Fi, hey, look at me. It’s okay now. You’re- You’re okay.”

She’s not listening. It’s not until Rhys moves his hands up to cup both sides of her face that she seems to even notice that he’s _there_ , eyes finally meeting his but also not, like she’s seeing past him instead of what’s in front of her. Her breathing is harsh and she’s still furiously scrabbling at the dirt to try to get away from him, but he holds on. He brushes her hair back away from her eyes and shushes her as gently as he can manage and just... holds on.

And for the most part, it works. Granted, it still takes some time to get through to her, but then she starts to relax. All the tension loosening, her gaze sliding to the side before moving back up to look at him. _Really_ look at him this time. Not just through him.

Her breathing stutters, becomes a little nasally, a little uneven, and then it slows. There’s a moment as she catches her breath where they just stare at each other, her fingers still twisted in the grass at her sides and his thumb tracing patterns over the hollow of her cheek.

Then she lets out a short, weighty huff, eyes sliding shut and expression scrunching up hard enough that she gets that cute little dimple between her eyebrows.

“Are we dead?” she rasps out after a minute, shifting her weight slightly before letting out this strangled hiss like even that small movement was painful for her.

All he can manage is a weak, “No,” at first, but it sounds kind of weird and sad so he clears his throat a few times until that choked up feeling preventing him from speaking normally goes away and tries again, “No, we’re- we’re not dead. We, uh, gave it our best shot though. Or you did, at least.”

Fiona snorts dryly and opens her eyes, which causes a few involuntary tears to slip out and run down towards her hairline. He brushes them away and smooths her bangs back as she keeps wiggling around to get more comfortable, but all that seems to accomplish is the exact opposite. Every tiny twist or change in position has her wincing and reeling back in discomfort, and she eventually gives up on that endeavor altogether to flop back down on his lap with a sigh of defeat.

“Explains why everything feels like shit,” she agrees croakily, angling her head around so she can look up at him again. “My version of the afterlife wouldn’t include all this... pain and suffering crap. Ow.”

She’d been reaching for him with her left hand, bending her wrist in a way that probably agitated the break. But she’s not screaming in agony and the angle still looks fine, so the bones must have already started to mend. Sighing, Rhys meets her halfway, carefully fitting his fingers between hers and rubbing his thumb back and forth over the backs of her knuckles.

They’re both content to sit in silence for a while, with her using her free hand to trace the lines of the wrinkles in the front of his shirt and him studying the way moonlight filters through the treetops to cast long shadows across her face.

“What... happened today? Or yesterday? Whenever it was?” she finally asks him after some time, her voice still throaty and small.

“Well,” Rhys starts slowly, stalling by bringing his right hand up to push his hair back before returning it to the top of her head so he can keep playing with hers. “I’m not... I don’t really... know? Exactly?”

Fiona gives him a flat look. Or as flat as she can muster at the moment. “You don’t know?”

“Look, it’s- it’s complicated. Really... complicated. I don’t even know where I should start.”

She thinks on that shortly and then suggests, “Maybe... right after you came charging in full speed on your white horse to save me without any backup? Or how about explaining how you managed to shoot all three of those assholes before any of them could shoot you? Because no matter which way I look at it, I just can’t figure that one out.”

Rhys fiddles with a lock of her hair that won’t stay flat no matter how many times he pushes it down, still at a loss for what to say.

“Unless you’ve always been a sharpshooter,” she resumes after a second, “and I just never knew because you’re so married to the idea of using that weird stun baton thingy instead of a more reasonable weapon.”

He can’t help but frown at that, gaze sliding back to hers as he pokes her right in the jaw. “Okay, first of all, that ‘stun baton thingy’ _is_ a reasonable weapon. Don’t tell me you forgot about that whole thing where I single-handedly took out, like, a million bandits with it.”

She doesn’t have anything to say to that. In fact, it just looks like she’s trying to figure out what he’s even talking about to begin with.

“You know, before the Vault key deal you screwed up?” he reminds her with a roll of his eyes. “ _That_ whole thing?”

The lightbulb goes off and she nods along in understanding. “Ohhh, right. Yeah, I remember. That ‘whole thing’ that definitely didn’t happen. You probably zapped a roach with it on the way in and just exaggerated because you felt threatened by how cool my side of the story was compared to yours.”

“Um, I’m telling you right now, it _did_ happen, and it was way more awesome than anything you’ve done in your entire life. You can only dream of ever doing anything that would even come close to that in terms of sheer coolness factor.”

“Mhm. Oh yeah. I’m totally convinced.”

That infuriatingly cute but smarmy grin on her face tells him that she isn’t.

He pinches her on the cheek hard enough to make her gripe in protest before going back to running his fingers through her hair. “Well, anyway. I, uh. I guess I should tell you that I... actually didn’t shoot them. Any of them. I- I was sort of relying on you to know what to do because that’s your _thing_ , just- making snap judgements and figuring out how to get us out of these sticky situations we always find ourselves in because you’re the only one who can. And when that didn’t pan out I just... froze.”

“I’m sorry,” she tells him, frowning hard as she squeezes his fingers once. “I tried, but-”

Rhys silences her by giving her a very gentle kiss on her forehead. “It’s not your fault, Fi. Please don’t- Please don’t ever think it’s your fault.”

She sighs, raising an eyebrow at him as he draws away. “Well, it’s not exactly your fault either, dummy. If we’re playing the blame game, I think the morally corrupt Power Rangers beat out both of us ten to one.”

That’s... true. But if they were to get really technical about it, it’s sssorta his and Fiona’s fault those guys even had the means to rise to power in the first place. The kid laid it out nice and clear for them back on Nona; they opened the Vault, new Eridium preserves started popping up all over the universe, Orcus proceeded to stake their claim anywhere they could to grow their empire, blah blah blah, etcetera etcetera, now they’re here. So maybe in some ass-backwards way, he and Fiona really did bring this upon themselves.

But Rhys shakes his head. That path of thought only promises guilt and self loathing and really, _really_ bad migraines. The past is the past and nothing can be done about it now.

“I just... I’m sorry,” he speaks up again after a minute, wondering why the hell his vision just got all blurry before realizing it’s because there’s these stupid, selfish tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He tilts his head back so Fiona won’t see them, blinking up at the canopy above their heads and taking a few shaky breaths in through his nose before finishing, “I know it’s not- it’s not my _responsibility_ to protect you or anything like that but... I’m sorry. You needed me in that moment and I couldn’t save you and I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know how he expected her to respond to that, but it definitely wasn’t a disbelieving snort followed by a firm blow to the center of his chest to get him to look back down at her. “Did you face plant into a bunch of those weird flowers again when I wasn’t looking? Are you tripping on funky death pollen right now?”

He wipes at his eyes with his sleeve and makes a face. “Fiona-”

“ _Obviously_ you saved me,” she talks over him. “I mean, I’m sitting right here. Very much alive. See, look.”

Fiona releases him from where she’d still been holding his hand, reorienting his arm to her liking before pushing forcefully at his wrist. The end result is something very close to him slapping himself across the face.

“Could a ghost make you hit yourself?” she asks him in this singsong voice as she does it again. And again. And again and again until Rhys scoffs and grabs her hand to trap it in between both of his.

“You’re twelve,” he informs her.

“And _you’re_ no fun,” she pouts, snatching her arm back and attempting to go for a petulant glower by crossing her arms over her chest with a huff. She falls somewhat short when the movement makes her flinch though, and he softens some at the flash of pain that flits across her face. He touches gentle fingers to her cheek in sympathy, which in turn eases her expression back into something slightly less cranky and inimical.

“It... really wasn’t me who saved you though, Fi,” he admits after a moment. “That sick _asshole_ tried to shoot you. Five times. They pulled the trigger five times, all- all aimed right at the back of your head and I just...”

He trails off, the words escaping him. Fiona just looks confused. “I... don’t understand. They couldn’t have missed me standing as close as they were. No one is that bad of a shot.”

Rhys shakes his head. “They didn’t miss. Something... Some _one_ stopped them. The cells, or- or bullets or whatever. Before they could hit you.”

She squints up at him, clearly disbelieving. He can’t really say that he blames her. But upon seeing how deathly serious he is, her eyes widen some, and she opens and closes her mouth a few times like she doesn’t quite know what to say.

“I know it sounds crazy,” he hurries to add before she can jump to any wild conclusions about his sanity or lack thereof.

She makes a pretty hilarious face at that. “I mean, to be fair, we’ve been through some pretty crazy shit already, Rhys. Like... when we were dodging moonshots and getting chased by a rakk hive at the same time. That was nuts.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Or when you accidentally handed control of Helios over to that insufferable psychopath that was stuck in your head and had to bring the whole station down just to stop him from murdering everybody.”

His throat starts burning with bile at the reminder, but he swallows it down as best he can. “Right. So kooky.”

Despite his best efforts, Fiona must hear something off in his tone, or maybe he’s not schooling his expression as well as he thinks he is. But she doesn’t comment on it, opting instead to take his left hand and press a kiss to the back of it before continuing, “And let’s not forget the part where we opened a Vault and got zapped forward four decades into the future instead of just getting, like, a bunch of cool guns or something.”

“Arguably the wackiest one of all,” he agrees soberly as he returns the kiss to her palm.

She gives him a smile and pats him comfortingly on the arm. “So if you say a chance encounter with a _telekinetic_ is what saved me, then I guess I can bring myself to believe you. Even though my first instinct is to be skeptical since I know how much you love spinning stories for attention.”

It really goes to show how good Fiona is at cheering him up because he can’t stop himself from laughing at that. The giggles persist even as he brings both hands up to cup her face and leans down reaaal close, pressing his lips to her forehead and then her nose before hesitating just over her mouth. “You are... _so_ cute when you’re projecting.”

“And you have... _the_ worst morning breath right now,” she retorts like her own breath doesn’t smell equally as bad. But she’s still grinning, fighting laughter and her cheeks pinker than they were a second ago. So he closes what little distance is left between them anyway, partially because a little halitosis is worth getting to see that dumbstruck look she always gets after he kisses her, but also just because he can.

He lingers a bit longer than he really needs to, sliding his fingers into her hair and nibbling on her lower lip and reveling in her soft sigh of disappointment when he backs away. And yep, there’s that look he was talking about; her eyes fluttering back open and her entire face flushing deep red as she gets this goofy half-smile that makes her look so beautiful his heart skips a beat or five.

Yeah, he thinks. That’s never going to get old.

It takes a minute for her to fully recover, floundering some as she sweeps her bangs out of her face and clears her throat a couple times. Rhys watches her fondly, having the faintest urge to set her back to square one by kissing her again right when she regains her composure. He ultimately doesn’t, because priorities, but he does make a mental note of it as something he can maybe try out later when the timing is better.

“So!” Fiona eventually pipes up again, tilting her head in his lap and folding her hands over her stomach. “Where is this all-powerful psychic that saved me, then? Since I’m going to go ahead and assume it’s not any of those three,” she glances pointedly over towards where Flick, Ezra, and Isabel are still all knocked out in a dogpile, “and nobody goes out of their way to do good deeds anymore unless they get some kind of reward out of it. Sooo... they stuck around, right? Player six joined the battle?”

It’s a tad more complex than that, but Rhys doesn’t know if he’d be the best one to explain everything Birdie said. Which wasn’t a lot. He still has more questions than answers.

So he just goes, “Uhhh,” and looks up towards the tree she retreated into when they made camp. It’d be better if Fiona could just hear it all from Birdie herself.

Fiona follows his gaze and considers the leaves above them for a minute before remarking dubiously, “Are you... Did a _tree_ save me? Is that what this planet’s deal is? Sentient plantlife?”

“What? No. Just-” He sighs and finds a loose rock on the ground to pelt up at the canopy. There’s no response so he starts hissing, “ _Birdie_ ,” to try to get her attention without disturbing the trio sleeping on the other side of the glade.

Fiona doesn’t appear to be terribly impressed as he repeatedly calls her name. “So a _bird_ did it.”

Rhys smacks his forehead and rubs his hand down over his face. “Fi, if you could just-”

“Oh, don’t sound so leery, my dear. Birds are much smarter than you think.”

It’s somewhat of a miracle he and Fiona don’t jump completely out of their skin when Birdie’s voice suddenly sounds from right in front of them, and that they don’t shriek in surprise as she more or less fades into existence. She reveals herself to be stooped down a few feet away from them, elbows resting on her knees and helmeted head cocked to the side in what Rhys can only guess is amusement.

“You called?” she says, voice teasing.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Fiona yelps as she forces herself up into a sitting position, grimacing and choking back whimpers until her back hits the same tree Rhys is propped up against and she can lean heavily on his shoulder for support. “You’re- You’re one of _them_.”

Birdie sighs for so long that frankly, Rhys is kind of impressed by it. “If by _them_ you mean _Orcus twat_ , then no. I see your boy toy here hasn’t bothered explaining the situation whatsoever. Good on you, mate.”

“I was _getting_ to it,” Rhys argues, folding his arms in front of him defensively. “It’s just, uh, really hard to explain without you being here to fill in the gaps. Because you’re so...”

“...So what?”

He waves a hand at her vaguely. “Just... you know... yourself?”

Her helmet makes it impossible to tell what kind of face she makes at that, but for some reason he gets the feeling he just offended her.

Fiona blinks a few times like she’s having trouble keeping up with what’s happening. And then her eyes narrow, and she looks between Rhys and Birdie a few times before settling on addressing the former with a huff. “Just... _Who_ is she, exactly?”

“Name’s Birdie,” Birdie answers before Rhys has a chance to even open his mouth, “and you’re Fiona, and that’s Rhys, and you’re the legends that opened the Vault of the Traveler forty-three years ago. Though I’d wager it hasn’t been _quite_ as long for the two of you, yeah?”

Fiona looks at Rhys again, now utterly bewildered. But he’s just as taken aback as she is despite having already guessed Birdie knew this much before, so all he can do is shake his head.

Birdie watches them wordlessly exchange their confusion for a moment before propping one elbow up on her knee and leaning her chin into her hand. “I suppose you’re both thinking, ‘Oooh, and just how the bloody hell does _this_ broad know about any of that?’ Well, to put it simply, the certain parties I represent know the story of what happened all those years ago. The _real_ story. Not the Orcus version- or propaganda, if you will- that pushes you lot as the villains so they can paint themselves as saviors of the universe, cleaning up the mess you made by opening that Vault or whatever drivel it is they’re shoving down everybody’s throats these days. And while anyone with half a brain knows that whole narrative is full of shite, Orcus has gone to great lengths to muddy up the truth so they can keep covering their arses about what they’re _really_ doing. But no matter how hard they might try, they can never completely erase history. Something will always survive.”

Rhys opens his mouth to say something, but he has so many questions that he can’t settle on which one to ask first.

Fiona, at least, seems to be better off in that department, fumbling mutely for a minute before finally saying, “How did... How did you know where to find us? Or to even look for us in the first place? We supposedly disappeared after opening the Vault and have been presumed dead all these years, right? That wasn’t something Orcus made up.”

“True,” Birdie concedes, “but when we got off-the-charts energy readings from a remote star system, it sure as hell caught our attention. We hadn’t seen anything like it since... well, _ever_ , but there weren’t any aftershocks or anything else to suggest another Vault had been opened, so we chalked it up to a fluke with our machines. So imagine our surprise when news of what happened in Fides spread despite your best efforts and Orcus plastered all your faces on every screen across the explored universe and oh, what do you know! The fabled Vault Hunters of old were counted among the five fugitives that courageously stuck it right to the boys in white. It wasn’t too hard to put two and two together about what happened after that. It was called the Vault of the _Traveler_ , after all.”

Rhys shakes his head again. Something about this... doesn’t add up. “How did you recognize us?”

Birdie seems to stall at that. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean... Orcus has been trying to cover up what happened, right? Twist the story to their advantage? Unless there’s, I don’t know, pictures of us from back then just circulating around- which I, uh, find pretty hard to believe, since no one’s recognized us so far- then how did _you_ and... whoever you work for know it was us?”

“Ah,” Birdie says, which isn’t much of an answer, so the nagging feeling in the back of his mind insisting that there’s a piece of the story she’s leaving out returns tenfold.

But then she drops a hand and unzips her jacket just a little, reaching inside and digging around before pulling what looks like a very old, folded up photograph out of an inside pocket.

Rhys takes it from her when she hands it over and Fiona scooches closer so she can see as well. They’re still well into nighttime, so it’s hard to make out what’s on it in this light, but he thinks this might be...

Holy shit. That’s _him_. And Fiona, and Vaughn, and Sasha, and Athena. And even _Gortys_ , all clustered together at the table in the caravan and looking... happy. Carefree. Well, except for Athena, but that’s because she perpetually looks like she’s having the worst day of her life. But the corner of her mouth is upturned in the barest hint of a smile, still showing her contentment in her own special, grumpy way.

It’s a candid photo, that much is obvious. And it’s faded to hell and back but still clear enough to make out everybody’s faces just fine, from the look of Sasha and Vaughn mid-laugh to Gortys playfully pestering Athena to the way Rhys is leaning ever so slightly against Fiona where they’re sitting side by side. And, he realizes with a start, the way she’s leaning into him _back_. They’re not looking at each other but they’re clearly sharing some type of moment in between whatever else was happening when this was taken.

It’s an odd thing to see, just... the way they were drawn to each other long before either one of them started to figure things out. Not odd in a _bad_ way, just odd in that he doesn’t understand how he never even noticed it. It seems so obvious in this photo, with her hand on his sleeve and his arm not quite slung over her shoulders, just across the back of the booth behind her, but still leaving this space at his side that she fits into perfectly.

It takes another minute for the full memory of this moment to return to him, although it’s still sort of fuzzy and warped by time. It was just another night on the road, he thinks, nothing special about it other than the fact that someone had found a functioning camera in all the junk Fiona and Sasha had lying around the caravan. It took a while to get everybody on board with a group photo- Athena especially- but they’d all finally relented for posterity's sake.

Loader Bot was the one who took it- or, well, the one who took _all_ of them. A whole roll of film’s worth, in fact. Someone always had something to say about every single photo the camera spat out- _my face looks dumb_ or _wait, shit, I blinked_ \- so they’d eventually stopped trying to pose for it altogether. He never knew what happened to any of them after that night though. He’d sort of just assumed Sasha kept them all because it was her idea in the first place.

But this one survived somehow. It’s survived all these years and passed through who knows how many hands to end up in the possession of this... mysterious stranger.

“Where did...” Rhys starts roughly as Fiona gingerly takes the photo from him to get a better look, his throat feeling sticky with nostalgia and homesickness. “...Where did you get this?”

“Our general’s been hanging on to it for a while and lent it to me so I’d know who I was looking for,” Birdie explains, holding her hand out to take it back. Fiona looks between the photograph and Birdie’s outstretched fingers a few times, appearing to be more than a little disinclined to return it. Birdie sits back on her heels once she realizes what the problem is and considers the both of them with... maybe sympathy? “I... suppose there’s no harm with you two keeping it for now. Just promise you won’t lose it, won’t you? It’s a bit of a collector’s item.”

They both nod their agreement absently which seems to satisfy Birdie, as she leans all the way back to plop down on the ground instead of continuing to crouch uncomfortably. “Right then. Any more questions? We’re on a roll here so if you have other concerns, say them now or forever hold your pee.”

“Peace,” Rhys corrects automatically. Who says that? _Forever hold your pee_. It’s not even a pun on anything in this situation. It’s just flat out incorrect.

Birdie very dutifully ignores him, however. “Aaanything else?”

“Yeah, actually,” Fiona pipes up as she folds up the photograph and sticks it in her pants pocket. “Three things. First off, who even are these _certain parties_ you work for?”

Birdie pulls her knees up to sit cross legged and then leans back on her palms to get more comfortable. “We call ourselves the Outlanders. We operate mainly out of a hidden base a few days’ worth of jumps from this system, but we have people all over. Not as many as Orcus, mind, but give it a couple hundred years and we might get there.”

“And you’re... what? Some type of rebellion movement? An opposing faction?”

“Rebels, separatists... Call us what you will, at the end of the day we’re a bunch of people living in a rock who are just trying to scrape by without being confined to Orcus’ rule. If we happen to make change for the better in the meantime, that’s just an added bonus.”

Rhys isn’t really sure what to make of that. Fiona takes a moment to think it over too. But then she’s moving right along, ticking off her next point on her fingers, “Okay, second thing then. What is it that you and your ‘Outlanders’ want with us, exactly?”

“Nothing,” Birdie answers easily.

Fiona doesn’t look very convinced of that and frankly, Rhys isn’t either.

“Well, nothing that you haven’t already done before,” she elaborates, which isn’t that much more helpful. “But our top priority as it stands is securing you and your friends’ safety, should you all choose to return to Outlander with me. I won’t force you to, mind, but it _is_ likely in your best interest considering your situation. There’s a looot of people looking for you right now because of that pretty price tag on your capture, so you’re lucky I got here first. You’re not an easy bunch of find, I’ll give you that. Makes me wish I’d had the choice to apply for Pathfinder all those years ago, but at least _we_ get to do this.”

With that, her silhouette shivers briefly and then vanishes into nothing altogether. It’s _really_ creepy how she can just do that at will with seemingly no limit as to how long she can stay out of sight. Thankfully, she decides to, uh, turn her visibility on again, evaporating back into existence like she’d never even faded away to begin with.

Fiona’s just staring at her, mouth slightly agape. Rhys crosses and recrosses his arms in front of him a few times, opening and closing his mouth until he finally just blurts, “How the hell are you even _doing_ that?”

“It’s all in the suit, my friend,” Birdie tells him as makes this big, sweeping gesture at herself. “Eidolon exclusive, courtesy of Orcus tech. Now, I do believe you had one last question to ask me?”

That last thing is addressed at Fiona, who shakes off her awe at Birdie’s disappearing act and clasps her hands together in her lap with this suddenly really serious look on her face.

“I want to see your telekinesis,” she asserts, dead-eyed, “since Rhys said-”

“I didn’t _say_ it was telekinesis,” he argues before she can even finish her sentence. He turns to Birdie and repeats, “I didn’t say it was telekinesis.” He pauses and then adds quietly, “Is- Is it... telekinesis?”

He doesn’t know how she does it with the helmet and everything else, but Birdie somehow pulls off the impression of being so exasperated and done with their shit that he feels a little guilty for even asking. “It’s not telekinesis.”

Rhys whirls back around on Fiona. “See? I told you it wasn’t telekinesis.”

“Okay, we have _got_ to stop saying the word ‘telekinesis’,” Fiona says, sounding equally as exasperated and done with everybody’s shit. What a sore loser.

“Regardless,” Birdie cuts in, “as much as I love showing off for no other reason than to demonstrate my grandeur, it doesn’t really work that way. It can be... very tiring. I’m sure you understand.”

Uh. He’s not sure about Fiona, but he can’t say he understands at all. It’s difficult to empathize when she won’t even explain what it is that she _did_ , let alone put on a show-and-tell, but he supposes he can give her the benefit of the doubt. Even if it does make it seem like he’d been stretching the truth about what happened just a little.

Or more than just a little.

Fiona’s giving him this smug look like somehow she won this little dispute just because Birdie won’t back him up. To try and save face, he turns back to Birdie and prompts, “What about that- that other thing you do? You know, the whole... rolling around at the speed of sound? Thing? That thing?”

She turns her head to the side like she has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.

“With the- the-” he scoffs, gesturing vaguely, “-the super speed or whatever? Zipping around so fast it makes me feel all... weird and tingly?”

A beat passes.

Birdie ducks her chin with a snort. “Oh, wow.”

“Not- Not like _that_ ,” Rhys rushes to clarify when it occurs to him just how sleazy and awkward that sounded, turning to Fiona to make sure she didn’t, like, completely take that the wrong way. “I didn’t mean it like- like-”

Birdie pats him a few times on the leg. “I’m afraid you’re barking up the wrong tree, mate. I, ah, bat for the other team. Exclusively, if you catch my meaning.”

“ _I didn’t mean it like that_ ,” he insists vehemently, face burning. Fiona doesn’t say anything, but at least she looks more entertained by his foot-in-mouth moment than offended; one arm folded over her stomach and the other propped up so she can partially cover her mouth to hide the smarmy little smirk she’s making right now.

No, yeah, that’s fine. It’s sooo great that everybody’s just hopping aboard the ‘Make Fun of Rhys’ train. Next stop, Humiliation Station.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret though,” Birdie says as she pushes herself up to her feet and wipes off the dirt stuck to her hands. “I’m not fast. Everyone else is just slow.”

And with that extremely cryptic and vaguely confusing comment, she turns to wander over towards the trio who are all still snoozing away at the opposite end of the glade. She starts waking them all up with the declaration that it’s about time they get moving while Fiona sidles up real close and nudges her shoulder against his.

“Tingly, huh?” she pesters, to which he can only roll his eyes.

“Trust me, Fiona, if you’d felt it, you’d be saying the same thing,” he pouts back as he grabs her hat from where it’s resting on the other side of him and passes it over. Her eyes light up in pure, uncontained joy and she snatches it from him, zero hesitation, and while she fiddles with it to her liking, Rhys stands and turns around to offer a hand to help her up once she’s ready.

“No, I believe you,” she says once she’s done messing with her hat, her voice lilting with muted jest which sort of gives him the impression that she doesn’t. She takes his fingers and caaarefully pulls herself up off the ground with a muffled groan, having to focus on not making ugly faces as she does it, but she goes right back to that shit-eating grin once she’s on her feet. “I have to know though- do _I_ make you feel tingly?”

“I-” he starts and then stops again, warmth creeping into his cheeks as the implications behind that question settle in. “I, uh. I don’t- I’m not really sure how to, um, answer that? So.”

Fiona moves forward, her steps small to compensate for her aches and pains. She ends up stopping just short of being flush against him, reaching up to wind her fingers in the fabric of his collar so she can tug him down until he’s closer to her level.

“How about honestly?” she murmurs before lightly touching her lips against his. It barely even qualifies as a kiss- more like a brush of mouths than anything else- but they might as well have been making out for the past five minutes for how out of breath Rhys is at the end of it.

So. _This_ is what it feels like when Fiona brazenly flirts with him instead of hiding it under a hundred different layers of subtlety.

He could get used to this.

Rhys clears his throat as she draws back, fidgeting with his sleeves and rubbing at the back of his neck before finally just admitting, “Maybe... Maybe a little. A little tingly. Just, like-” he uses his thumb and forefinger to indicate the smallest amount humanly possible, “-like _this_ much tingly.”

Fiona nods sagely, her curiosity apparently sated. And then she has the audacity to clap her hands down on his elbows and tell him, “That sucks, because I find you repulsive.”

“Oh, shut _up_ ,” he huffs, sweeping forward and gathering her up into his arms so fast that she yelps and tries to squirm away in protest. He’s careful not to squeeze too hard but still keeps his grip firm, nuzzling right into that spot where her neck and shoulder meet and peppering kisses all the way up to her jawline while she frowns and mopes and pretends to be very unhappy with this development even though she could easily push him away if she wanted.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Birdie whistles to get their attention. “Let get a move on, shall we? Time’s a-wastin’!”

It takes an inhuman amount of effort to pry himself away from Fiona and turn to drift over towards where everyone is packing up and getting ready to go. He helps Ezra get the bags distributed so no one’s hauling too much weight around and, while he’s at it, returns his borrowed pistol to its owner. Not like he has much use for it now.

“Where are we even going, anyway?” Flick inquires through a yawn as they scoop their dumb cat up off the ground and get him situated in the front of their collar again.

“Ah, right, I forgot to mention,” Birdie muses, tightening the strap on her rifle and offering to take one of the heavier backpacks from Ezra. “There... may have been a slight change of plans.”

Isabel snorts as she idly picks grass off the front of her, reaching up to smooth her hair back behind her ears before fisting one hand at her hip with a sigh and treating Birdie with a flat look. “So not only are you brainless and sloppy, but you also lack the dependency required to even commit to your own agenda. I’m not sure why I’m surprised.”

“Careful, love,” Birdie warns her teasingly. “You shouldn’t start things you don’t plan to finish.”

Fiona taps Rhys on the shoulder to get his attention and leans in to whisper, “What is _that_ all about?”

Rhys rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.”

Birdie goes on to explain the full extent of their position while everyone listens attentively, except for Ezra who watches Flick sign the conversation and Isabel who appears to be deeply invested in the state of her nail beds. According to Birdie, the original plan was to locate the five of them and evacuate the group off-world via the ship she traveled here with, which, supposedly, is orbiting the planet in stealth mode waiting for the signal to come down and retrieve them. The problem is that she can’t seem to make contact with it, claiming her SOCK display is malfunctioning and the ping won’t go through. Whatever a SOCK display is. She mentioned it before but didn’t really go into detail about it, so his best guess is that it’s something similar to the AION.

It’s probably not the most important thing to be worrying about right now but it’s going to bug him if he doesn’t ask, so he cuts in to express his interest. Apparently, his hunch hit the nail on the head; it turns out to be a program mainly used for communication within the Outlander movement, but also has environmental scanning capabilities much like the AION helm displays. It’s developed and maintained by her, quote, “Guy in the sky,” which is another thing he remembers her making a passing acknowledgement of before but not having elaborated on since. And, she adds, it’s actually called the S.O.C.K.V.A.B.E.C.O.R., which is confusing. There’s probably some obscure reference there that Rhys just doesn’t get.

Birdie spends a full minute trying to recall what the whole acronym even stands for before coming up empty. So he supposes that’s part of the reason why it’s been shortened to SOCK. That and the full name of it is kind of a mouthful.

But since she can’t get through to her ship’s systems the normal way, they have to put their thinking caps on and figure out another method of sending the message. Luckily, she already has an idea, which is to hijack an Orcus console so she can make the connection with her ship manually. Which sounds simple enough, but it’s not like they have the means to do that out here in the middle of jungly nowhere, so unfortunately, that means their days of trekking through the wilderness for hours on end aren’t over just yet.

The closest facility with the tools they need to get their hack on would be the one those three soldiers from yesterday came from. But that entire place is going to be on high alert once they discover the bodies- if they haven’t already- so it’s probably not in their best interest to go that route if they want to make it off the planet alive. There aren’t any large cities around for hundreds of miles either, so no dice there, but there _is_ a mountain range a few days’ travel to the south that evidently houses underground compounds that were previously used for Eidolon training back in Birdie’s day. Apparently, they’ve long since been abandoned due to unspecified concerns with the surrounding environment. Whatever that means.

But Birdie is convinced they’ll be able to get in contact with her ship’s AI from there, and since nobody else comes forward with a better suggestion other than continuing to wander through the wilderness at random and hoping for the best, the group comes to an agreement by default. Besides, if these Outlander people have as many resources as Birdie has led them to believe, then Rhys doesn’t think it’s unreasonable to at least see what they have to offer. And at the very least, it seems likely that they’d be able to transport him and Fiona back to Pandora once all’s said and done. Assuming it would even be safe for them to do so now that Orcus is hot on their trail, but whatever. One step at a time.

Isabel is the only one who looks genuinely displeased by the decision, although Fiona doesn’t seem to be balls to the wall about it either. But Rhys has a feeling that has more to do with the fact that she’s still injured and in pain than anything else, her mobility stunted and the labyrinthian layout of this place only making it more difficult for her to move around normally. But thankfully, no one minds slowing down enough to ease the journey for her once they start moving. Flick even hangs back to keep an eye on her and ask well-intentioned if not repetitive questions about how she’s doing or if she needs water or if she wants to take a break. Rhys would never say so out loud, but it’s kind of cute how they’ve come to care about her enough that they’ve dropped the pretense of hiding their concern.

Meanwhile, they’re just as prickly as ever when it comes to interacting with him. And as much as he hates to admit it, it bothers him, just a little, just because he doesn’t know why the shift in their demeanor is so noticeable. He wants to ask but that might be weird, and anyway, he doesn’t even know why he cares so goddamn much about the stupid kid’s opinion in the first place. They’re an annoying little asshole with questionable morals and the emotional maturity of a five year old, so why should he give a shit if they have some weird, one-sided vendetta against him? It’s no skin off his back.

Still. It nags at him from the back of his mind as all six of them slowly make progress through the forested maze, trudging onward until evening approaches and the sun starts to climb above the horizon.

Rhys can’t help but sigh as the sky gets brighter and brighter. The whole thirty hour day/night cycle thing is really starting to throw him off since it doesn’t fit evenly into a normal twenty-four hour schedule. Sunrise and sunset are at different times every day and it’s just... not good for his circadian rhythm. If he ever manages to get back to a regular sleep routine after all this, it’ll be nothing short of a miracle.

They don’t push themselves as hard as they have been, opting instead to make camp early so everyone can get some more much-needed rest. Their usual dinner of those horrible baggies of squirrel food is accompanied by a helping of fresh meat off of some type of mystery animal the kid managed to track down and shoot out of a tree. It’s pretty small, appearing to be somewhat feline in structure but with a dash of primate thrown in. Birdie calls it a burdugian, Flick calls it an ugly monkey cat, and Rhys just ponders how odd it is that this thing is the first sign of life they’ve even seen since they got here other than other people and the perpetual sound of insects buzzing in their ears. That really can’t be normal.

The kid skins and cleans the corpse before roasting it over a fire, which releases this _awful_ smell that’s so thick and inescapable that Rhys can’t help but gag on it. When it’s cooked through, they offer him a portion of the thigh, and he shakes his head vigorously before asserting with the utmost confidence that he would literally rather starve to death than eat that.

Fiona wrinkles her nose in distaste when they turn to her instead, but after some deliberation she decides to take it from them anyway. Rhys watches her lean forward and back away from it over and over like she’s trying to convince herself to take a bite, and when she finally goes for the _tiniest_ nibble, she gets one good chew in before spitting it out and waving at Flick to come take back the rest. Ezra and Isabel appear to have had similar experiences, and Flick makes quick work of everybody’s leftovers, since apparently they’re the only one who doesn’t mind eating rancid garbage.

Birdie, on the other hand, doesn’t appear to be hungry. Or, well, maybe she is- she did take a ration of dried fruits and nuts from the kid when they were passing them out- but she hasn’t eaten it yet. That would probably require taking her helmet off, which she still has yet to do. It’s a little strange not knowing what she looks like under there, but he guesses there must be a reason for her to want to protect her identity. Maybe she’s hideously deformed and really self-conscious about it? Or- oh shit, what if she’s an _alien_?

No, wait, that doesn’t seem likely. Her fingers are relatively human-looking, so at most she’d be, like, a hybrid. Which would still be pretty cool. It might explain her weird, not-telekinetic-but-totally-telekinetic superpowers. Or whatever.

Once they’re done eating, they all start settling in for the night. Rhys and Fiona find a semi-comfortable spot on a patch of soft moss while Flick, Ezra, and Isabel choose to curl up between the gnarled roots of a tree so tall and wide that it has to be hundreds of years old. Birdie retreats to the treetops once more, truly well and living up to her name, and the rest of the night passes uneventfully.

Morning comes just as the sun is setting again, and while Rhys isn’t exactly thrilled with the idea of trying to navigate this sweaty hellhole in the dark for the second day in a row, at least the night cycles have the advantage of being marginally cooler and breezier than it is during the day. Still, it takes a while for him to get moving, since he wants nothing more than to stay curled up by Fiona’s side with her arms wrapped around him and his head nestled against her shoulder. He’s quickly finding that it’s one of his favorite spots to be, even though she does sort of smell like a sweaty gym sock that’s been laying around in a pile of dirt for at least a week.

Another day of traipsing through the jungle whizzes by in a sticky blur, and by the time the trees start becoming slightly less clustered together and the silhouette of a tall, sprawling mountain range becomes visible on the foggy night horizon, Rhys is about ready to keel over from his boredom. The most exciting thing to happen is Birdie wordlessly taking the lead when they hit a rather dense patch of vegetation and whipping her sword out to cut a path through the flora. That and group conversation somehow lands on the topic of siblings at one point, which is fine until Ezra casually mentions his older sister and two younger brothers he’s been talking about for, like, twenty minutes also all happen to be dead.

Which is... really awkward. You’d think that would have come up earlier before all the charming anecdotes and a walk down memory lane.

And, apparently, it reminds everyone else of their own dysfunctional families too. Isabel makes some bitter comment about how at least he didn’t have an abusive twin manipulating every single thing he did for his entire life, to which Flick bitterly declares that at least _she_ didn’t have to deal with the fallout of said twin after Isabel and Ezra left. It keeps going around and around like that in a cycle of bitterness with those three being very passive-aggressive with each other about their respective emotional and/or physical traumas until Birdie finally snaps at them to shut up and stop trying to make a pissing contest out of who had it worse because all they’re doing is making themselves look like whiny assholes.

Surprisingly, that actually works for the most part. The argument peters out and when those three do start talking again it’s in lowered voices, exchanging apologies and fleeting touches as the whole group continues pushing onward through the thicket.

Fiona sighs heavily after a few minutes and Rhys glimpses over in concern. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, folding her arms in front of her as they both sidestep a thorny bush and tiptoe over a stretch of the ground strewn with loose branches and roots. “Nothing. I just...”

It takes her a moment, struggling for the right words or maybe just trying to find the courage to say whatever it is she wants to say. Rhys waits patiently, falling behind her when the trail narrows too much for them to walk side by side and then catching up once it widens back out.

She ends up taking so long that he starts thinking she’s not going to finish that thought, so he’s not expecting it when she finally admits, “I miss Sasha.”

Rhys looks at her again. _Really_ looks at her this time, at the way she’s schooling her expression into something stony and impassive and yet can’t quite smooth the quirk in her brow all the way. At her posture, how she’s hunched in on herself, just a little, and how her shoulders sag with a weight he can’t see and can’t fathom how she can bear to carry.

He turns his head forward, not wanting to upset her by staring any longer than he already has. But after thinking it over, he does hold his hand out for her to take if she wants to. Nothing he could say would lessen her grief, nothing he could do would replace what she’s lost, but he can still do this much. Just... letting her know that he’ll be here for her, for as long as she’ll have him.

And that she doesn’t have to suffer through this alone.

A beat passes, and then she slides her fingers between his. It proves a tad problematic when it comes to keeping their balance as they pick and stumble their way through the strangled verdure, not to mention the truly impressive amount of palm sweat involved. But despite that, neither one of them is willing to let go, and after a while Rhys glances back over to find that while she still has this air of somberness about her, some of the tension in her stance has eased away.

Another hour or two passes before they approach a break in the dense foliage around them. Rhys can see it up ahead from the way moonlight filters past the tree trunks differently; brighter and spilling on the forest floor in pools instead of splotchy patches. Birdie is swearing under her breath before any of them even get past the treeline, but once the whole group emerges from the bushes and finds themselves face to face with the daunting obstacle before them, he thinks he can understand why.

A wide, _deep_ ravine separates where they are from the base of the mountain range they’ve been heading for over the past couple days. Or, really, to call it a ravine would be generous- it’s more like a gorge or a canyon, the dropoff so sudden and sheer that slipping off the edge would result more in a straight plummet than a sliding roll down. Interspersed across the expanse are tall towers of rock extending all the way up from the bottom of the chasm, the tops flat enough that they could be used as stepping stones if they weren’t spread so far out from each other. Some are lower than others but enough are level with the ground they’re standing on that reaching the other side probably wouldn’t be impossible, although making the jumps between them is definitely on the list of things that are never going to happen. Building up enough momentum to get to the first one wouldn’t be difficult, but after that they wouldn’t have enough room on those skinny little pillars to get the running start they’d need.

And a quick glance from side to side gives him the sneaking suspicion that going around isn’t an option either. The gully stretches on for as far as Rhys can see in both directions, all the way down the length of the mountain range. So it looks like they’re either going to have to somehow scale down the cliff to the bottom and then back up again on the other side (impractical if not totally unattainable) or turn around and find some other conveniently abandoned Orcus facility to make contact with Birdie’s ship from (just downright troublesome in more ways than one).

But then Birdie spins around from where she’d been considering the divide with her hands on her hips and tells them, “I wasn’t quite expecting it to have spread this far already, but don’t none of you worry your pretty little heads over this. We can still cross it.”

It takes a second for the full ridiculity of that statement to sink all the way in, and then Rhys starts shaking his head. “No. No way. Maybe _you_ can, with your whole-” he waves a hand at her with a scoff, “-just... whatever your deal is with the speed and- and freakish ninja agility, but the rest of us? We can’t make those jumps. There has to be another wa-”

“There is no other way,” she interrupts impatiently, rolling her neck around. “And normally, yes, the distance would prove to be an issue, but little known fact about Decima- the entire planet is breaking apart. And sometimes, that can work to our advantage.”

With that, she lets one of the bags she’s carrying for Ezra slide off her shoulders. She lifts it up by the straps a few times, almost like she’s trying to judge its weight, and then turns back to the rift in the earth before them to just... toss the whole thing over the edge.

And before anyone can freak out about her purposefully throwing away the supplies they need to survive out here in this verdant pit of sweat and self-loathing, the bag stalls, slowing its descent from where Birdie flung it up high before coming to a stop altogether to float suspended in the air.

Rhys blinks, confused. Is _she_ doing that? It doesn’t seem likely, since it doesn’t look the same as when she froze the energy cells to keep them from hitting Fiona. Those were perfectly stagnant while the bag pitches side to side and up and down like whatever’s keeping it balanced is constantly shifting underneath it. Plus his shoulder isn’t all itchy- or _tingly_ , or whatever- so Rhys is fairly confident that this isn’t Birdie’s doing.

“It’s a gravitational imbalance,” she explains as if reading his thoughts, though a quick glance at everyone else reveals they’re just as blatantly dumbfounded as he is. “A side effect of The Big Bad along with all the other nutty little quirks Decima has to offer. Take the lack of wildlife, yeah? From what I understand, a large majority of the planet’s species went extinct shortly after that whole mess. Something about the geomagnetic disturbance that rippled through and how it affected animal behavior and breeding patterns. When I was stationed here for training, I did double duty patrolling around some of the conservation sites to take down any poachers, but it’s bleak work. The ecosystem’s never going to be the same as it was, both because of the utter havoc wrought on all the food chains and phenomenons like the one you see here. Plus, you know, the fact that in a few hundred years Decima will be nothing more than an asteroid field floating in space. The whole planet’s slowly splitting open and dying out. A bit sad, isn’t it? If you think about it.”

“That... isn’t what they teach us on Nona,” Ezra says slowly once Isabel finishes signing what Birdie said for him, going back to squinting at the bag still rolling and tumbling over itself in place. “Any of that, just- everything you just said. I’ve always been told Decima wasn’t affected by The Big Bad at all. All of us were.”

Isabel and Flick nod their agreement to which Birdie only offers a one shouldered shrug. “Well, that just goes to show how deeply flawed your education system is, because it most certainly was. All three planets in this system were, in fact, though Morta got the worst of it. Nothing but a lifeless ice cube now with an atmosphere too thin to breathe in. Completely uninhabitable. Tragic thing, that. I hear it used to be beautiful. Salt flats and white sand deserts and the rings always shining to light the way.”

Morta? Now that’s a name Rhys hasn’t yet added to his mental dictionary of future timeline terms and lingo. Mostly because he’s never heard anyone talk about it prior to, uh, just now. But he supposes if it’s really just a desolate rock no longer capable of sustaining life, then maybe it’s not that weird that it hasn’t come up in casual conversation, even after all this time. Its existence is barely relevant and it doesn’t have much of an impact on his and Fiona’s plans to return to Pandora, so it’s more than likely it was just a case of nobody feeling the need to bring it up.

But Birdie’s voice had this edge of melancholy to it as she talked about it, and that strikes him as a little odd. She can’t possibly be old enough to have lived there before they opened the Vault; or, at the very least, not old enough to remember what it was like. And if it really is a barren wasteland full of nothingness now, then she’s probably never even visited- she wouldn’t have a reason to, would she?- so that twinge of nostalgia is even more strange as a result.

After another moment, Birdie clears her throat and continues on without that note of longing in her tone, “Well, anyway. Contrary to what your yahoo Nonan schools drilled into your poor, impressionable skulls, Decima was hit by the smiting fist of God as much as any other planet. It just had the misfortune of getting all of the bad and none of the quote unquote, ‘good’.”

“You mean the Eridium preserves,” Fiona adds, and Birdie nods.

“That’s right. Rather rare thing, as it turns out. Planets developing mineral stores after the opening of a Vault and all that. Nona’s the only one for at least twenty jumps in any direction and Orcus burns through the stuff lightning fast to keep their tech and medicine and everything else they churn out the most cutting edge shite on the market. Don’t ask me how they do it- that was waaay above my paygrade- but their need to get their grubby little hands on as many Eridium-rich planets as possible makes near perfect sense when you realize it’s just a power grab to keep themselves on top.”

The... Wait a second. They use _Eridium_ to develop technology? And _medicine_? That seems... counterintuitive. At least for the latter, since even touching the stuff without proper precautions is enough to make one violently ill for a week. As for the former... that one’s tougher. But it does remind him of that piece of junk- the computer component? Or whatever it was that Fiona found back in that little oasis town on Nona. Due West? Or East? He’s pretty sure it was one of those. But he remembers the component having a tiny sliver of Eridium in it, and while at the time he hadn’t known what purpose it served or how the mineral would even affect tech to begin with, now he can’t help but resume his hypothesizing. If it provides some advantage over similar pieces that _don’t_ have Eridium foiling, then it has to boost the specs somehow. Maybe it’s used as a power source? Or as a conductor between other sections of the board?

He wonders if Fiona is still carrying that thing around. He wants to take another look at it, see if maybe he can figure it out with all this new information.

But he doesn’t get a chance to ask before Birdie is clapping her hands together and turning back around to face the chasm. “Alright, team, game faces please! I’ll go first to show you how it’s done and you can all follow in whatever order strikes your fancy. A forewarning, however; the gravity is weaker over the gorge, but I guarantee that every single one of you weighs far too much to float. So if you slip, you _will_ fall. And I will not- I repeat, _not_ be dragging anybody out of the bottom of that trench, so if you do take a tumble, that’s not my problem. Understood?”

She doesn’t even wait for an answer before she’s backing up a few paces and then running full speed off the cliff. She grabs the bag still hanging suspended in the air as she passes by, tucking it safely against her chest as her momentum carries her even farther past the rock closest to the edge due to the lack of gravity pulling her down. She lands expertly on the second one out, situating the backpack on her shoulders again over her rifle and then spinning on her heel to mock a bow for the five still standing on solid ground and watching in awe.

“Don’t overthink it!” she calls out as she prepares to make the next jump. “Be careful, don’t go for any heroics, and you’ll all be just fine!”

Everyone waits until she’s made it to the other side, which is much farther away than Rhys initially realized. She’s just a fuzzy dot in the distance, the vague echo of her voice carrying across the gully but the words too distorted by the distance to make out.

Ezra makes this sound that’s like a pained wheeze and a strangled hiss of exasperation all in one, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and looking like he’s on the verge of passing out. “I take it back. I was an idiot for thinking we could start over here. I admit it, I’m a dumbass, and I really, really want to go home now.”

Yeah, that just about sums up how Rhys feels too. Isabel slides a comforting arm over Ezra’s shoulders while Flick hops up and down in place in what Rhys thinks might be... excitement?

“Are you kidding, Zeezee?” The kid whirls around to address Ezra, hands moving with the same amount of bubbly enthusiasm as they have in their voice. “This is awesome. This is just... _so_ cool. Like, even cooler than that one time I tried to get from my house all the way to Keanu’s place using only the rooftops but then the stupid neighbors down the block caught me on my way back and told my dad and I got grounded for a month. And that was arguably one of the coolest things I’ve ever done- saving Lucky from a viper barehanded notwithstanding- so the fact that this tops that is really saying something.”

Ezra just blinks at them disbelievingly. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Flick, but not all of us are so blessed with the privilege of having been suicidal from the day of our birth.”

“‘Not all of us are so blessed with the privilege of having been blah blah blah’,” they mock what he said in a high-pitched voice that sounds nothing like him before jabbing a finger in his direction. “Shut up, you weenie. I won’t let you ruin this for me.”

“Then perhaps you would be willing to be the first to go?” Isabel suggests with a pointed tilt of her head.

The kid practically shouts, “Oh boy, would I be!” and then pivots around to sprint right off the edge with no further prompting needed. They overshoot the second rock by a long shot and wind up smacking right into the side of the third. It takes them a second to scramble up to the top and stand up straight again, first checking that their cat is secure where he’s still stashed in their shirt before punching their fists in the air with a whoop of triumph.

Isabel just shakes her head as they continue jumping from rock to rock with wild abandon, clearly having the time of their life. Ezra’s face has gone even paler than before.

“You next, mi alma,” Isabel eventually tells him, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly and tucking some of his hair back behind his ear. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“No offense, Issa, but that really doesn’t make me feel a whole hell of a lot better,” he mutters as he stares after Flick in dismay. Then he ducks his head, doing that whole sign of the cross thing before clasping his hands together in what must be a prayer.

“I thought you didn’t believe in God anymore,” Isabel remarks with a raised eyebrow once he finishes and takes a step forward on shaky feet.

“Not since Gennie died,” Ezra admits, “but I want to have my bases covered in the very likely event that I wind up plummeting to my death here shortly.”

And with that, he’s off, albeit after a lot of hemming and hawing and two false starts. Where Flick was confidently clumsy, Ezra is the exact opposite, still uncoordinated but in an overtly awkward and terrified way as he makes the jump from rock to rock. Isabel goes after he does with markedly less hesitation- probably the most graceful out of all of them except for Birdie- which leaves Rhys and Fiona as the only ones left to consider the three hopping figures steadily making their way across the gorge.

Fiona sliiides up beside him and bumps her hip against his. “So! You want to go first?”

“Nope,” he replies instantly, eyeing the thousand foot drop just a few inches away from where his feet are. Or, okay, maybe it’s not  _that_ far down, but it’s probably pretty damn close.

“You’re not scared, are you?” Fiona teases as he nonchalantly takes another step back from the edge.

“What? Me? _Scared_?” Rhys laughs like even the notion is ridiculous before asserting with as much seriousness as he can muster, “Fiona, I am downright _petrified_ right now.”

And it’s true. He hasn’t made the first jump yet and he already feels like he just finished running a marathon; completely winded and having trouble even catching his breath. Fiona loses the ribbing vibe once it becomes apparent he’s not exaggerating, moving closer so she can lay a gentle hand on his sleeve.

“It’s going to be fine,” she says with this soft smile that’s _almost_ enough to make him actually believe that. “You really think after all this time I’d let anything bad happen to you?”

Of course he doesn’t. Not on _purpose_. But accidents happen and she must vastly underestimate his ability to defy even the best of odds if she genuinely thinks she could prevent him from screwing this up the way only he can.

When he doesn’t answer, she drops her arm to twist their fingers together, assuring him a little more quietly than before, “I’ll stay close, okay?”

Rhys sighs, nodding, and leans down to peck her gratefully on the forehead. “Let’s just get this over with before I throw up. Or- Or pee my pants or... something.”

“Ew, Rhys.” She wrinkles her nose in distaste as she pushes herself up on her toes and returns the kiss to his cheek. “Don’t do either of those things. For my sake. Please.”

“No promises.”

She rolls her eyes and releases his hand to go position herself for the first leap, lowering her stance in preparation and then taking off. She presses a hand down on the top of her hat to keep it in place because god forbid she lose the damn thing, holding tight as she sails easily over the first and second rocks to touch down precariously on the third. It’s a bit of a wobbly landing but she rights herself quickly and turns back around to motion for Rhys to follow, to which he can only let out an unsteady breath as his nerves threaten to root him permanently to this spot.

No, okay, he can do this. He _has_ to do this, actually, because he somehow doubts anyone would be amenable to looping back around and carrying him across should he wind up wimping all the way out. Even if that would be really convenient and preferable to having to do it himself. Goddammit.

Why couldn’t someone have offered to give him a piggyback ride? Or at least knock him unconscious and then just... throw his body across? Or something?

God. These people really are a bunch of selfish assholes.

“Rhyyys,” Fiona calls out, gesturing more deliberately now.

Shit. Okay. Just. Stop overthinking it. That’s what Birdie said, isn’t it? Good advice always does seem to come from the strangest of places. Including, apparently, an ex-Orcus assassin who may or may not have psychic superpowers and evidently has such a big complex about her appearance that she would rather keep her helmet on 24/7 than show even the tiniest sliver of her face.

And really, that can’t be comfortable. Doesn’t she get, like, sweaty in there? He feels like she would get sweaty in there.

“ _Rhys_!”

Right. Yes. Okay. Focus. Jumping. Not to his death, hopefully, just to the second rock out. Or maybe the first. Yeah, first is better. Closer. Safer. Baby steps, Rhys. Baaaby steps.

He takes another long, jittery breath in and then slowly lets it back out, backing up a few paces so he can get the running start he needs. He’ll go on the count of three- no, wait, two. Three is too predictable. He has to sike himself out so he doesn’t wind up choking it at the last second. So go on two. Go. On two.

Gooo. Ooon.

Two.

He skips one, because one is for cowards, and just starts rushing forward. He’s sprinting with everything he’s got, and then he’s jumping, and then the _ground_ is gone and he feels lighter somehow and oh shit he misjudged the distance, he ran too fast, he made a _mistake_ and now his momentum is carrying him too far, too far, _too far_ -

And then his feet find the edge of the second rock. Granted, he almost immediately slides backwards because he only just barely managed to reach it, but he wheels his arms to stay upright and then stumbles forward until he’s solidly planted on the stone.

Fiona looks on with equal parts amusement and concern as he hunches over with his hands on his knees and tries not to think too hard about what he just did. “You okay, Rhys? You almost missed the-”

“Yes, Fiona, I am _acutely_ aware of how close I just came to killing myself, thank you!” he snaps back before she can finish helpfully reminding him of the fact. He exhales heavily, scowling down at the rock beneath his feet. God. This sucks. This sucks more than anything else has ever sucked, ever.

And it just keeps on sucking. Leap after leap, stone after stone; every step of progress towards the other side of the chasm is five steps back for his anxiety. He has to take breaks between jumps so he doesn’t wind up sending himself into full cardiac arrest or something equally terrible, but drawing it out for so long probably doesn’t do much to help matters either.

Fiona- for as impatient as she usually is- is surprisingly accommodating, always quietly waiting on the rock in front of him until he’s ready to move again. Though the same can’t be said for the rest of the group, all of whom have long since made it past the finish line. They’re too far away to pick out individually, just a little cluster of movement on the precipice that seems so impossibly out of reach, but he can still hear them- or, at least, hear whoever it is that’s yelling bloody murder for him and Fiona to pick up the pace already. There’s some other stuff thrown in there too that he can’t quite catch between the blood roaring in his ears and all the mini panic attacks he’s having every time they move from one stone to the next, but he’s pretty sure the heckling is coming from Flick, because the waspish sting in their shouts packs just as much of a punch as it does when they’re speaking normally.

Which adds yet another layer of misery to what is already quickly becoming the most miserable experience of his life. Or, okay, that might be pushing it, but it’s definitely ranking up there in the top five.

“Just ignore them,” Fiona is saying as he’s repressing his terror for the upteenth time now and preparing himself to vault over to the next rock. “We’re almost halfway and the jumps are getting closer, so that’s a good thing, right?”

She’s trying to be encouraging. And he wants to appreciate it, he really does, but it’s a little difficult when stone-cold panic is locking his joints up and he can’t stop shaking long enough to get into position for the jump and the stupid goddamn _kid_ won’t stop _screaming_ like this is all _his fault_ and he’s doing it on _purpose_ for the _sole reason_ of _making a burden out of himself and dragging everyone else down with him too_.

Fuck. Goddammit.

 _Fuck_.

“Rhys-” Fiona starts as soothingly as she can possibly manage while still having to raise her voice slightly to carry all the way to where he’s standing, but she’s cut off by another unintelligible shout from across the gully. At that, she whirls around to yell back, maybe to chastise the kid for being an asshole or just demand they knock it off.

But whatever she says flies completely over his head because he’s not listening. Not anymore. They want him to hurry up? Fine. He’ll hurry up. No more breaks. No more shying away or thinking twice or sitting on the fence until he thinks he might have enough courage to make it. Just. Go. Run. Jump.

He jumps.

He jumps, but then stalls at the last second just before his feet leave the stone, hesitation spiking through him in a jolt and throwing his momentum off base.

But it’s too late, because he jumps. And that split second of reluctance, of uncertainty and doubt and _fear_...

It proves to be his downfall.

By some miracle, he comes within arm’s reach of the tower he’d been trying to get to, but any hope of a safe landing was dashed as soon as he botched the leap. His fingers catch the edge, just barely, just _barely_ , and he allows himself a small sigh of relief because this is still salvageable, he can still pull himself up-

But then the rock starts to give way.

No. Shit. No, no, _no_.

He’s scrambling, clawing for another handhold, but the harder he struggles, the faster the stone comes crumbling down. There’s grit in his eyes and his hands keep slipping- one slaked with sweat and the other just refusing to gain traction on the smooth, damp surface- but he keeps fighting, kicking, _refusing_ to give up until.

Until.

There’s a crack.

And the chunk he’s holding onto loosens.

And he can’t grab another piece fast enough.

And then he starts to fall.

It’s like slow motion. It’s like time stops. And all he can think about- god, _all_ he can think about is how this is pretty much one of the exact plot points of that old sci-fi adventure-comedy film trilogy from waaay back that everybody loves because it’s good and the protagonist dresses like a bisexual. The only things missing are a time traveling DeLorean and the fact that he doesn’t have a best friend named Doc that’s, like, a million years old for some reason even though he’s still in high school.

He’s going to meet his maker because he couldn’t deal with someone calling him a chicken. Unbelievable.

And he’s just beginning to come to terms with it, trying to accept that this momentary lapse in his judgement is really going to be the thing that kills him even after all the other unlikely events that should have killed him _first_...

But then he jerks to a stop.

It feels like his arm is about ready to pop out of its socket, nails _digging_ into his wrist as he cranes his neck around only to see...

Fiona. Laying on her stomach and the entire upper half of her body hanging over the edge of the rock so she can keep a hold on him, clutching desperately, her fingers slipping over his. But she hangs on, and when her hat slides off her head because of her precarious position, she doesn’t even look twice at it.

Rhys catches it automatically as it falls past instead of doing the smart thing and grabbing her arms with both hands. Clearly, both of their priorities are a little out of order at the moment.

“I’ve got you,” Fiona says breathlessly, somehow even managing a _smile_. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

More of the ground beneath her collapses, causing her to skid forward and both of them to drop a few inches. But she doesn’t falter, and she doesn’t lose even a little bit of that smile, although it’s starting to twist into more of a grimace from the effort it’s taking to keep her grasp tight and not pitch off the edge at the same time.

And it’s then that Rhys realizes that despite her quick thinking, he’s still not going to make it out of this. She might be strong enough to pull him back up normally, but right now she just doesn’t have the leverage to do it. No matter which way this goes, it’s going to end with him lying twisted and broken at the bottom of this trench. There’s no disputing it. His fate is sealed.

Another hunk of stone comes tumbling down past him. And then another.

But Fiona has a choice. She has a chance he doesn’t have. She can survive this, she can save herself, and all she has to do is just...

He blinks up at her, at the bright moon above them, at the inky black sky filled with too many stars to count.

“Fi,” he starts slowly, his voice coming out so calm that it surprises even him.

And she must know what he’s going to say because she’s already shaking her head. “I told you I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you, didn’t I? I don’t plan on-”

They lurch forward again and she cuts herself off with a choked gasp of _agony_ as her shoulder cracks so loud it echoes off the rocky towers around them.

But she still doesn’t let go.

“Fiona,” he tries again, beseeching. “Listen to me.”

“No. _No_. I’m not- I won’t let you-”

“You’re going to fall too if you don’t let me go.”

She stares at him blankly for a second before squeezing her eyes shut and whipping her head back and forth so vigorously he’s amazed they don’t both go plummeting off the threshold from the force of it. “I don’t care. I don’t _care_. I’m not going to let you do this- this shitty self-sacrificial thing all over again. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to _ask me_ -”

“Do you think Sasha would want you to do this?” he interrupts, which stops her right in her tracks. It’s a low blow, he knows it is, he can see it in her face. How her expression twists with a pain that isn’t physical.

 _But she still doesn’t let go_.

“I don’t care,” she growls through gritted teeth, “what Sasha would want me to do because she’s not here. She’s not _here_ , Rhys. Okay? No one is. It’s just... you and me. That’s how it’s supposed to be, right?”

No. Not like this. Never like this.

Another chunk gone, another slide forward. One more is all it will take to send them both careening over the edge and down to depths unknown, but her determination stays true. And he hates it, goddammit, he hates _her_ for being such a stubborn, thoughtless jackass that she would rather squander her second chance than just cut her losses and continue on without him. It’s stupid, just- the stupidest thing she’s ever done and he _loathes_ her for it because if their positions were switched, if it were _him_ -

That train of thought stalls.

Then it falls apart altogether.

And he understands, all of a sudden. He understands.

He’s still not okay with it, because of course he isn’t. How could he be? But he understands- for what might be the first time in, well, _forever_ \- what it is she’s trying to say without her even having to utter the words.

And he tells her, “I love you too.”

She opens her eyes and for one long, lingering moment, they see each other.

Like they did in the Vault.

Like they did on that rooftop.

Like they did in the alley, on the ship, in that little grove with the flowers.

They see each other.

And she still doesn’t let go.

The rock gives way.

He closes his eyes.

And they begin to fall.

And a heartbeat passes.

And then another.

And then everything.

Gets.

Itchy.

It’s a disconcerting thing, to be plunging to his death in one breath and then standing on solid ground again in the next. It takes a second for his brain to even fully process it, because it happened so fast that he has... literally no recollection of how he got from there to here.

How _did_ he get here? Is he... Is he _dead_?

He opens his eyes and abruptly decides, no, he’s not dead. Not unless their friends somehow bit the bullet too, all three of them standing wide-eyed and mouths agape in front of them as they are.

Fiona’s right beside him, rubbing at the burns on her left hand and rolling her shoulder around with a wince. She has this look on her face that gives him the impression she’s just as confused as he is, which is weirdly comforting. Rhys checks behind them on a hunch and yep, okay, they’re on the other side of the canyon now, evidently having skipped the rest of that physically and emotionally tortuous journey during that split second of nothingness after they fell.

Just. What the hell. _How_?

Birdie sucks in a breath and coughs it back out almost on cue, making everybody turn to look at where she’s leaning wearily against a tree trunk nearby. Oh, well, that explains it, kind of. She sounds... really terrible, actually, her breathing labored and a little wet as she deteriorates into what very well could be a minor asthma attack.

“Could have-” she starts but gets cut off by a wheezing fit, slumping even further against the tree until she can finally catch her breath enough to finish, “Could have cut that... a little closer... yeah?”

“I’m sorry,” Ezra butts in before either Rhys or Fiona has a chance to say anything. “But what- what is it that you just-”

“Holy crap,” Flick talks over him. “Moon Moon can _teleport_.”

Isabel doesn’t have anything to add, opting instead to silently consider Rhys, Fiona, and Birdie in turn. He can practically see the gears turning in her head as she works on whatever conclusion she’s inevitably going to come to on her own, though Flick more or less hit it on the nose with their remark. Except for the teleporting part. At least... Rhys doesn’t _think_ that’s what that was? Shit. It could be. Maybe he was the one mistaken when he assumed it was super speed or... whatever. It would be nice if Birdie herself could shed some light on the subject, but she’s obviously preoccupied with just trying to adequately perform a normal bodily function, so he decides to save his questions for now.

“Crikey _Moses_ , you’re an idiot,” Birdie retorts at the kid once she’s able, which seems like a pretty strong _no_ to the teleporting hypothesis. So there’s one mystery solved. Sort of. Not really.

She doesn’t offer any further explanation as she pushes off that tree and stumbles over to breathe heavily on him and Fiona. Or he guesses it’s not really _on_ them because of the helmet, but still. She looks up at him first, studying for a moment, leaning a bit closer before backing away with a shake of her head. And then she turns to Fiona and repeats the same process before ducking her chin to level her with... a serious look? An intimidating glare?

“Whatever it is that you’ve got in your pocket right now, give it,” Birdie says lowly. Not _angrily_ , exactly, just... with a strong demanding aspect about it.

Fiona makes a face but drops her hand from where she’d been running her palm up and down her left forearm, digging around in her pants pockets to produce everything she’s been carrying around. Birdie picks through the resulting contents; pushing aside her little walkie talkie with all the sparkly lightning bolt stickers on it, picking up that goddamn _eye_ with a noise of disgust before chucking it back over her shoulder to disappear into the bushes forever- much to Fiona’s immense disdain- before finally finding that computer component piece Fiona picked up back on Nona and grabbing at it with fervor.

Birdie examines it briefly and mutters so quietly that Rhys is certain she hadn’t meant for anyone else to hear it, “This isn’t going to be enough.”

Then she staggers back over to that tree to smash the component against the bark before crushing the entire thing between her fingers.

Rhys squints at the mangled scrap of metal as she drops it to the ground, an inkling, just an _iota_ of a theory forming in the back of his head. But he’s too far away to confirm it, and Birdie is suddenly all up in his and Fiona’s space again which is pretty damn distracting, especially when she raises herself up on her toes a little bit to stick her head by his neck as if she’s sniffing at him like a dog.

“Why do you both,” she starts as she turns to Fiona and leans down to do the same thing, “still feel all...”

“Tingly?” Fiona supplies helpfully, which makes Rhys glance over at her in shock. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

Birdie backs up to consider them for a minute. And then she tilts her head. “How very interesting.”

Evidently, that’s all she has to say about that, because she spins on her heel and starts heading off towards the treeline without another word.

So. _That’s_ a new and unusual development. Both on the Birdie front and with Fiona apparently joining him in the weirdly-itchy-and-kind-of-tingly-but-not-tingly-like- _that_ club. Rhys isn’t entirely sure what to make of it, but he’s still reeling from his near-death experience- and dragging Fiona with him, as it were- so maybe now isn’t the best time for deep and complex thought.

Flick, Ezra, and Isabel all turn to follow Birdie after a moment, whispering and probably speculating about what happened amongst themselves. Rhys realizes a second later that he still has Fiona’s hat clenched tight in his fist, so he faces her with the intention of returning it only to find she’s already staring up at him with this... really strange expression he can’t quite make heads or tails of.

She looks like she wants to say something though, so he gives it a minute, but all she does is just... gawk at him, unblinking.

He eventually clears his throat and holds out her hat for her to take. “I, uh. I think this is yours.”

Her gaze drops for less than a second before flicking back up to meet his, eyebrows knitting together and mouth getting this heartbreaking twist to it and hands reaching out to knock his out of the way. She actually _pushes_ his arm to the side- the one with her hat, the thing she cares for most in the whole wide universe- in favor of pulling _him_ into a hug.

Well. This is... unexpected.

“You’re an _asshole_ ,” she mumbles shakily against his chest, fingers curling into the back of his shirt.

Rhys sighs and brings his arms up to reciprocate the embrace, one hand finding the back of her head and the other fitting at her waist with the brim of her hat still caught between his fingers. “I... I know. I’m sorry, Fi. I didn’t mean to-”

She cuts him short with an extra throaty scoff and pushes him away by the shoulders. The movement makes her flinch, and she pauses to test the range of motion of her shoulder- the process inducing even more involuntary winces and the occasional yelp of pain- before she finally just smacks him on the bicep with her left arm instead. Not _hard_ , mind, and it’s less effective than it normally would have been because, you know, robot limb, but it’s still enough for Rhys to want to roll his eyes and shake his head from the overwhelming predictability of it. Now _this_ is closer to what he’s used to.

“Screw you,” is how she chooses to kick off this particular round of giving him shit, wagging an accusing finger in his face as he folds his arms in front of him and settles in for the ride. “I don’t want your stupid, heartfelt apologies or your stupid, reasonable explanations or your stupid, snuggly hugs that make me feel so gross and warm that I almost forget why I’m even mad at you in the first place. Because newsflash, jackass! It’s not going to work this time! I refuse to fall prey to your conniving little trap!”

“Are my hugs really that good?” he wonders, which earns him a scowl and another soft slap across the arm. What? He was just _asking_.

He fully expects her to keep barreling along the lines of the same tangent because when she gets herself worked up to chew him out, not even the force of a thousand armies could hope to get in her way. And she opens her mouth like she’s going to, like she has a fifteen point thesis all prepped and ready to go for presentation. Main topics being: why he’s a dumbass, why he has always been a dumbass, and why he will never stop _being_ a dumbass due to the delicate nature and balance of such things on this particular existential plane.

But she stalls, and then a voice calls out for them from the direction everybody left in- Isabel’s, he thinks- so she doesn’t even get the chance to launch into her introductory paragraph. Which is kind of a bummer, because Rhys was looking forward to seeing how long it would take for her to figure out that the only reason she’s so pissed off is because she was worried. She was _scared_ , for him, for both of them, because she cares, god, she cares _so much_ and he can see it so clearly that he’s astounded by how Fiona doesn’t seem to see it at all.

She really does have a surprising lack of self awareness for someone who’s supposedly spent all her life learning how to read other people. But then again, maybe that’s not out of the ordinary for someone like her. If you’re constantly paying attention to what everyone else is doing, then when are you supposed to find the time to listen to yourself?

So maybe it just takes her a little longer to interpret what her heart is trying to tell her sometimes. And that’s okay, Rhys thinks, as long as it’s her. As long as it’s her, he can bear to be patient.

Plus, she’s really cute when she’s that special type of angry that’s not _really_ angry, always huffing and puffing a lot and making big, dramatic gestures with her arms and getting that adorable little dimple between her eyebrows that he loves so much. So it’s a win-win.

After snatching her hat from him and placing it back on her head where it belongs, Fiona spins around and starts stomping off after the rest of the group. Rhys trails after her and they quickly catch up with everyone else, continuing on with their miserable hike through the jungle towards the base of the sprawling mountain range looming above them.

The terrain gets more uneven as they push on, which tires everyone out at an even faster rate than usual. It’s already pretty late in the day so they decide to call it, making camp in a semi-sheltered cave they had the fortune of stumbling across. Fiona’s been keeping quiet about her shoulder as much as she’s been able, but Flick must have noticed something was up at some point anyway because they wander over as soon as she sits down with the offer to take a look only to get a snappish reply not to touch her.

Which is... shocking, to say the least. But then Rhys supposes that maybe in her head the whole... almost falling to their deaths thing is a direct result of the kid’s impatient hollering to get across the gorge faster. Which, okay, it sort of _is_ , because if they hadn’t done that then Rhys likely wouldn’t have had his little freakout that led to losing every modicum of sense he had that led to him trying to make the jump before he was emotionally ready to make it. But it’s also sort of his own fault for even letting it get to him so bad to begin with, so he thinks it kinda evens out.

But Fiona apparently doesn’t see it that way, refusing Flick’s help until they eventually sulk off to go join Isabel and Ezra on the opposite side of the cave. They don’t quite manage to hide the hurt on their face as they turn away but Fiona doesn’t seem to care, simply sliding down on the ground to curl up on her side with her left arm pillowed under her head and pretending to be asleep when Flick passes out dinner. It’s a silly thing to hold a grudge over- and even sillier to let her physical health suffer for it- but when he scooches down to tell her as much, murmuring the words next to her ear, she doesn’t bother to reply. She just heaves a sigh and turns over, and Rhys guesses all he can do is wait for her to come around on her own terms. However long that’s going to take.

Everyone turns in shortly after that. It starts to rain outside but Birdie wanders off to go hunker down in the treetops like she always does, while the trio on the other side of the cavern all begin to snore in tandem. He drifts off easily, the events of today weighing heavily on his mind but not as much as the pure, unfiltered _exhaustion_ seeping into his bones. As for Fiona, he couldn’t say, but hopefully she gets some shut-eye too.

He’s in a dead sleep when something warm and solid squirms its way under his arm, and he opens his eyes to blink down blearily at where a vaguely person-shaped lump is trying to make itself more comfortable by his side. Which is weird. And something he should probably be more alarmed by, but there’s a streak of red in that blurry blob of color, so he can’t bring himself to be too overly concerned.

Yawning, he lets his eyes slide shut again, unconsciousness eaaasing back in to take hold once more...

And then Fiona whispers, “Are you awake?”

“Mm,” is Rhys’ immediate response to that. Tact, eloquence, _and_ boyish good looks? He really does have it all.

Fiona wiggles around some more before finally flopping her head on his chest with a sigh. “I haven’t been able to sleep, so I’ve been thinking.”

Rhys lets out a slow breath, cracking his eyes open again and bringing up his palm interface on a whim so he can check the time. “...For four hours?”

“About what happened earlier,” she continues on without even acknowledging his incredulity, “and how close of a call it was. And about what happened with those Orcus assholes the other day and how close of a call _that_ was. And about what happened when we crashed the ship and how close of a call it wa-”

“So you woke me up to drag me into your existential crisis,” Rhys interrupts teasingly as he lets his palm interface deactivate and brings his left hand up to start pulling his fingers through her hair.

Fiona huffs, burying her face even further against the front of his shirt. “I woke you up because all this shit keeps happening, just- everything that’s happened since we got here. And it’s so stupid, Rhys. All of it. It’s just so stupid. Opening the Vault was stupid. The whole... _time travel_ thing- which, incidentally, I still don’t understand at all- that’s stupid too. And everything about this place? It’s stupid. The people are stupid, the planets are stupid, even this stupid cave and everything in it is stupid. I’m stupid. _You’re_ stupid.”

He lifts his right hand up to his chest in a gesture of mock offense. “Words _do_ hurt, you know.”

“ _Uuugh_ ,” she groans, fingers twisting in the fabric by his ribs as she somehow sinks even deeper into the space beside him. She’s like an amoeba that’s trying to merge her ectoplasm with his, but they’re both fairly solid, non-permeable beings, so it works about as well as can be expected.

They lapse back into silence for a while, with Rhys gently petting the back of her head and this noise that sounds vaguely like chirping crickets echoing softly from outside to reach them. It’s still raining, but the sky has turned more gray than black, indicating dawn can’t be too far off yet.

Rhys is almost asleep again the next time Fiona speaks, since he’d been under the assumption it was safe to drift off considering she hadn’t said anything else for the past ten minutes or so. But he’s pulled back when she suddenly sucks in a breath and props herself up on her elbows to tell him, “You’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

And since he’s closer to unconsciousness than not, the first thing out of his mouth is, “Uhhh,” followed very shortly by, “Thank you?”

When what she said fully registers about two seconds later, he opens his eyes to find her staring him down with one of the most deathly serious looks he thinks he’s ever seen her make.

“You’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” she repeats, “because ever since we met, you’ve been chipping away at me and at everything I thought I knew about myself until I didn’t recognize the person in the mirror anymore. Do you know how frustrating that is? To live my entire life seeing things one way only for some corporate douche in a shitty tie and a bad haircut to come along and show me I’d been wrong that whole time? Do you know how _frustrating_ that is, Rhys? Do you have any idea?”

He pushes himself up the wall behind him some so that he’s more sitting than laying down, wide awake now but unsure of what to say. Is she... Is she _mad_ at him? Everything she’s saying points to yes, but her tone makes him think there’s something deeper there, something more. It’s soft, tinged with something imploring and meaningful, and her expression has this twist to it that's too sweet to be anger. No, he thinks, she’s not mad. Not this time. Not when she’s taking his left hand to thread their fingers together as she inhales slowly and lets it all back out.

“You’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” she reiterates again, “because despite who you were- despite who we _both_ were- you changed me. You changed me and you changed my _mind_ ; about you, about people _like_ you, about how the world works and how we’re all more similar than different and how trust can be an easy thing to build if you’re willing to try. And by the time I realized that what I felt for you wasn’t hate anymore, you were gone, Helios had crashed, I thought you were _dead_ , and I was just... lost. And it was so weird because I still had Sasha and she was all I’d ever needed before but I felt _lost_ without you. Not incomplete or like I-” she snorts and lets out this really dramatic sigh, “-like oooh, I just couldn’t go on anymore, not without _Rhys_! Even though I’m sure that would have done wonders for your ego.”

She pokes him in the cheek with the barest hint of a smile and all he can do is watch her, turning her words over and over again in his head and the meaning behind them rendering him mute.

“But it wasn’t like that,” she continues solemnly after a moment. “I just felt lost. Or... emptier, maybe. Without you there. And that’s why you’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. Because you charged into my life all gung-ho and out of the blue and changed everything for the better and then you just... left again. Just like that. Like I was somehow supposed to go back to how things were before after knowing what it was like to be with you.”

He blinks a few times as something sad and long-forgotten unfurls its roots beneath his breastbone. “Fiona, I- You know I tried to find you, right? After Helios and- and everything else, I never gave up, I never stopped looking, but there were so many other things going on with Atlas and- I just- I couldn’t-”

She pulls herself up a little more to press a finger to his lips before tucking an unruly piece of his hair back behind his ear. “I know. I do have a point, if you want to shut up long enough to let me make it.”

He regards her skeptically for a minute before conceding with a huff. “Sure, fine, go ahead. Keep going with your whole... confession of eternal hatred for me. Or whatever it is that you’re doing.”

“That’s... pretty much the exact opposite of what I’m trying to say, dummy. Are you even listening? At all?”

He is, and he knows deep down that this is all her roundabout way of conveying those three little words she’s so afraid to say out loud.

But he rolls his eyes anyway, never one to pass up an opportunity to give her a hard time. “Uh, I’m definitely listening. And I’m really not sure how I’m supposed to get anything other than deep-set dislike from, ‘You’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,’ echoed, like, three times over. It’s like you’re casting some kind of curse on me. Is- Is that what you’re doing? Have you really just been a harbinger of doom this entire time and I was too blinded by my infatuation to see it?” He heaves a long, _heavy_ sigh and throws his arm over his eyes as theatrically as physically possible. “Oh the _humanity_. Who could have guessed it would end like this?”

Fiona laughs, deep and genuine, right into that space where his neck and shoulder meet. Her breath is almost uncomfortably warm but he circles his free arm around her to hold her close anyway, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

Her very _damp_ head, he should add, which is gross. She’s gross. All dirty and soaked with sweat.

He drops his other arm so he can hoist her up even more, ducking his chin and burying his face in her hair. Gross. Gross gross gross.

...He never wants to move from this spot.

Fiona squirms around until she finds a position that doesn’t hurt her shoulder, all half sprawled out over top of him with her hand on his chest and their legs tangled up together. She traces the seams on his shirt with a finger, smoothing out the wrinkles and catching the loose thread here and there before eventually piping up again in a hushed voice.

“I love you, Rhys.”

And he swears, right there and then, that the world stops spinning on its axis.

He’s not so much of an idiot that he didn’t see this coming- actually, didn’t he _just_ say that it was? Not even thirty seconds ago, he was so smugly pleased with himself for catching on to her clever double meaning. He knew it, he called it first, he deduced all her dancing around for what it really was when she was still a mile away and working herself up to the finale.

And really, for all her skill in the art of conversation, she’s been remarkably bad at maintaining a convincing level of subtlety now that he knows what he should be looking for. It’s in the way she touches him, in her lazy fingers that never want to draw away. It’s how she gravitates to his side instead of in front or back behind him, how she laughs when what he said wasn’t really all that funny. It’s her quick glances, her lingering stares, the way she looks at him when she thinks he’s not paying attention.

It’s how she doesn’t let him go.

But to hear the words from her, like this, so soft, so quietly whispered right next to his ear yet thundering so deep through his bones at the same time- it’s like the universe shrinks to just the two of them. Like nothing else matters, nothing else even exists except for them and this moment, this one moment of breathless awe and the sweetest kind of heartbreak that he wishes he could thank her for.

But he doesn’t get the chance, doesn’t even get to catch his _breath_ before she’s continuing on with this tremor in her voice that somehow makes the words strike harder, right and true. “I know it’s probably cliche to say that after coming _this_ close to eating it, but... I don’t know. With everything that’s happened in the past couple days alone I was getting kind of worried I’d never get the chance to lug you out to some conveniently scenic location and go on this long-winded rant about how in love with you I am and list out every single thing you do that makes me feel all-” she seems to struggle for the words momentarily before finally settling on, “- _blech_.”

“I- _Blech_?” Rhys manages to echo faintly. “I don’t- What does that even-”

“So I figured I’d ditch the whole grand gesture idea,” she talks over him as she nestles closer to his neck, “since you’re a tough act to follow and it’s not really my scene anyway. But I still wanted- no, I _needed_ you to know that... the feeling’s mutual. Or whatever. Even though you figured it out before I did, I guess. Just don’t be an asshole and rub it in. I won’t forgive you if you do. I mean it.”

All he can do is splutter incoherently for a minute, angling his head around so he can gaze down at her in disbelief. “I wouldn’t- Why would you think- _Fiona_ -”

She cuts him off with a kiss, sliding her hand up along his jaw, down to his shoulder, twisting her fingers in the front of his shirt.

“Everything sucks,” she draws back enough to say, whispering gently against the corner of his mouth. “It’s all shit. Everyone we know is probably dead and getting things back to the way they were is starting to seem less optimistically unlikely and more downright impossible and everything _sucks_ , Rhys, it really does, and the only time any of it feels even remotely okay is when I’m looking at you.”

He- _Oh_. He lets out a breath, short and sharp, and then inhales shakily as she touches her lips to his, just barely, just so that when she speaks he can taste her voice on his tongue. “I love you. I need you to know that. And I need you to know that I could do this alone if I had to, but it’s so much brighter with you here and I don’t want to _lose_ you, Rhys. Not knowing what I know now. Not knowing how it felt the first time. I don’t want to have to go through that again, so please don’t ask me to, okay? Please don’t-”

Something warm and crushing and _real_ swells up like a riptide in his heart and he’s sweeping forward, clutching her close, kissing her fiercely. And she responds in kind; her palms moving up over his cheeks so she can thread her fingers through his hair and her teeth closing down on his bottom lip. It’s not soft, not at first. It’s not delicate or tender or fleeting. It’s desperate, like empty rooms trying so hard to be full. It’s yearning for a time long past, a time of bitter echoes. A time of unwanted reunions and things that should have never been said and a million too-little-too-lates.

Because everything was so much simpler back when they had too much to be sorry for and not enough time to make amends.

But at least they have this. At least they have each other. And maybe it’s not enough, maybe it never _will_ be because contrary to every love story ever told, that’s not how these things work. But this, this right here, this moment and everything it represents- it’s something to keep fighting for. It’s something they still have left to lose.

Fiona rolls onto her side with a sigh and he follows, hand sliding over her waist while hers loop around him to tug him closer. And then they slow, gradually and together, trading short, sweet kisses between little gasps for breath as frantic intensity eases to a lull.

They bask in the comfortable silence stretching between them, just for a while. But because it’s going to nag at him if he doesn’t, Rhys gently knocks his forehead against hers and jokes, “You’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to me too. Just, uh. Just- Just for the record. As far as... that whole thing goes. Um, you know. Samesies.”

She blinks up at him, eyes wide and so profoundly _green_ even in the low light filtering in through the entrance to the cave. “What?”

“What are you- What do you mean _what_? I’m talking about that long, rambling monologue you just went on that was really confusing at first but makes a lot more sense now. Sort of. I think. It’s like a double edged sword type thing. Right? Like, you looove me-” he tries to suppress the stupid grin fighting to come out when he says that, but, well, “-or really, we love _each other_ -” and the stupid grin gets bigger, “-and because of that it- it just- it hurts to be apart. Or in your case, it hurts when I encourage you not to sacrifice yourself for no good reason. Whatever. Am I close? I feel like I’m close, because I have to tell you, Fi, I just had this epiphany the other day and the fact that you’re bringing it up now is a liiittle uncanny.”

Fiona watches him blankly for another second and then scoffs, letting her hands drift down so she can curl them up underneath the hem of his untucked shirt. “Is that really all you have to take away from everything I just said? Seriously? You’re such an asshole.”

“I don’t- Are you- Was that not literally the entire point, Fiona?”

She takes a second to think about that. Like, really think about it. She also idly drags her nails along the path of his spine hard enough to make him shiver, which is weird and distracting but he doesn’t have the heart to ask her to stop.

Or. Maybe that’s just because he’s enjoying it more than he would care to admit.

No, no. It’s definitely that first thing. Absolutely. One hundred percent.

“I guess... you could say... it wasn’t _not_ the point,” Fiona concedes eventually.

Rhys laughs and buries his face against the side of her neck, pressing his lips right under her ear. “God, you need to learn how to paraphrase.”

She scratches him again, down along his ribs this time, and his kiss turns to more teeth than mouth. He grabs for her right wrist reflexively, _yanking_ it out which- _shit_ \- makes her flinch and hiss with pain. It slipped his mind entirely- her shoulder being all jacked up because of her pride and stubbornness- and he immediately relaxes his grip in apology.

“I’m sor- _ry_ ,” he breathes just as she grazes his back a third time with the hand still trespassing under his shirt, his voice hitching so noticeably from it that it’s a little embarrassing. “...Please stop doing that. Before something really unfortunate happens.”

“Don’t mind me, I’m just looking for that mysterious third tattoo you mentioned forever ago that I bet you thought I would completely forget about but I _didn’t_ ,” she responds chipperly, not making any move to draw away but at least relaxing her fingers so her nails aren’t digging in to his skin anymore. Which is disappointing.

Wait. No it isn’t.

...Wait. _Yes it is_.

“How, uh...” He falters, clearing his throat and shaking his head to send any thoughts of _that_ nature back into the deepest, darkest reaches of his brain where they belong before refocusing on her anew. “How would- How would that work? Exactly? It’s not like you can feel the difference.”

“Okay, buuut... You can at least tell me if I’m getting hot or cold.”

He squints at her. She’s just grinning like she knows exactly what she’s doing, all ear to ear and lopsided and her teeth stark white against the otherwise deep shadow that surrounds them. It’s not like she hasn’t seen his bare back already, what with what went down in the hotel room back in Fides that night after they got shitfaced drunk. The whole... her scaring the absolute shit out of him thing, right after he’d hopped out of the shower and before he’d even gotten a chance to put a shirt back on. So she _has_ to know his third tattoo isn’t anywhere on his back.

But he eventually says, “Okay,” to her little game anyway, against his much better judgement. Because fine, he likes the way she touches him, alright? There, he admits it, and he also admits that when it comes to Fiona, he’s a, let’s say, _weak-willed_ man. It’s not his fault she brings out his wishy-washy pushover side.

But Fiona, at least, seems delighted with this development, sticking her other hand up the back of his shirt again because apparently she needs to use both for this endeavor. No, yeah, that seems necessary. No reason for him to object. None at all.

She roams around for a while- and much, _much_ slower than she probably really needs to- before ultimately coming to a stop right in the middle of his back. “Here?”

“Cold,” he tells her sagely, voice coming out strikingly hoarse as she moves her palms upwards towards his shoulder blades.

“What about here?”

“Still cold. Even colder than where you started.”

She makes a thoughtful noise at that, reversing direction to slowly ghost down past his ribs. It takes everything in his power not to sigh or clutch her closer or do anything else that would obliterate what’s left of his ego.

“Now?” she murmurs when her fingers reach his hips.

His grip on her tightens just the _tiniest_ bit. Dammit, Rhys. Keep it together. “I- uh. That’s... warmer.”

She moves on to the small of his back.

“Mm. Warmer.”

She gapes up at him for a moment, and then asks him flatly, “It’s on your ass, isn’t it.”

It must be the combination of the dead serious look on her face and the dry tone she uses to say it, but all Rhys can do for a second is blink at her absently before erupting into such a deep, hysterical fit of giggles that he can’t even bring himself to deny it for a full minute and a half. Fiona’s joined in by then, fingers still meandering under his shirt while he drops his head to smother his laughter against her shoulder.

“It’s- It’s not on my ass,” he finally manages to wheeze out. “Why would you- Where did that even-”

“Oh, what a load of skag crap,” she argues between cackles.

He shakes his head, choking back snickers and wiping at the tears in his eyes on the fabric of her blouse. “I’m serious! Cross my heart and- and hope to die. Not on my ass. Scout’s honor.”

“I really,” she starts as she moves her hands up to cup his face, “really, _really_. Don’t believe you.”

He snorts and backs up so he can pinch her cheek fondly. “That sounds like a personal problem.”

“ _Oooh_ , okay, I see how it is.” She nods astutely. “Take off your pants then, hotshot.”

“I- What?”

“If it’s not on your ass, then prove it. Take off your pants.”

He considers her blankly, so completely taken aback that he doesn’t even have the capacity to be embarrassed.

And then they both _burst_ into laughter again, trying so hard to keep quiet by burying their faces against each other.

“You- You-” Rhys starts but can’t even finish, having trouble just _breathing_ in between his strangled giggles and attempts to speak. Fiona’s having the same problem, and when they finally manage to calm down enough to start catching their breath, he wags a finger in her face and accuses, “This is all just some gratuitous scheme for your own benefit, isn’t it? Because I really hate to disappoint you, but you’re going to have to try a _lot_ harder than that if you want me to give you a strip tea-”

Fiona cuffs him lightly over the ear with a cackle loud enough for her to have to clap her hand over her mouth to muffle the rest.

Her face also goes, like, bright red, which is definitely very interesting. And waaay more satisfying than it ought to be.

And he’s all excited to explore that reaction more- maybe even push the boundaries past what he just said if he’s feeling adventurous, this is uncharted territory after all. But before he can even get the first teasing word out, there’s this really long and dramatic sigh from the far side of the cave, and the noise shuts both of them up instantly.

“Will you two... _please_ stop laughing so much?” Flick hisses in a stage whisper, their already grouchy voice even rougher than usual like they’re only half awake. “Or at least do a better job of doing it quietly? Some of us are trying to-” a yawn cuts them off, “-trying to sleep here.”

Rhys and Fiona share a brief look before he scoops her back up into his arms, both regressing into breathless, stifled laughter all over again. And it’s sooo not this funny- he knows it, _she_ knows it- but neither one of them can stop, wheezing and gasping and snickering against each other until the kid snaps significantly louder than before, “Go to _sleep_ , guys.”

“We’re asleep,” Fiona responds, her voice somewhat muted by the fact that she’s talking directly into Rhys’ chest. And he has no idea why, but for some reason they both find that _hilarious_ , their giggles redoubling in magnitude until he’s reasonably certain they’re both in danger of suffocating themselves.

“Oh yeah, that’s super convincing,” Flick grumbles, muttering something unintelligible under their breath before making all this noise like they’re shuffling around to get comfortable. It goes quiet again after that, the only sound left being his and Fiona’s choked off laughter and labored breathing.

While it does take a rather excessive amount of time, they do finally manage to unwind and relax back into a calm, tranquil silence. The air is still stagnant and exceptionally hot and sticky but they don’t move apart for a while yet; Fiona being content to wrap her arms around his middle and squeeze tight while Rhys gently pets at the back of her head, fingers moving through her hair to an invisible rhythm.

And right when he’s starting to drift off again, she nuzzles even closer, tightening her grasp on him to the point where it’s a little hard to breathe and whispering, “I love you, Rhys.”

Even though he’s barely conscious at this point, his heart does this funny little dance in his chest where it skips, stutters, and then stops altogether before resuming at a galloping pace, and he feels this slow, soft smile spread across his lips.

She pats incessantly at his lower back when he doesn’t answer as fast as she wants him to. “Say it back already, dork.”

“I love you too, Fi,” he tells her quietly, sincerely, giving her a veeery gentle kiss on the forehead. “Always.”

She sighs, satisfied, and soon enough her breathing becomes deep and even. He must fall asleep very shortly after she does because the next thing he knows, Birdie is waking everybody up again with the assertion that they need to get moving if they want to make it to The Abyss today. Which is a strangely ominous statement, at least until she explains that’s just a nickname Orcus coined for the abandoned training compound they’ve been heading for.

...Actually, no, he takes it back. It’s still pretty damn ominous.

Surprisingly, he and Fiona managed to not drift away from each other overnight despite how humid and uncomfortable it is. He’s all cozy with his face burrowed against her shoulder while everyone else starts preparing to get going, and when he finally does scrape together enough motivation to pull away and sit up, he realizes there’s a wet spot on her shirt around where he’d had his head. And also that his entire cheek is damp. Oops. He must have been sleeping with his mouth open. His tongue does seem to be on the dry side now that he’s thinking about it.

Fiona notices it a second after he does and picks at her collar with a curled lip, shooting him a dirty look. “ _Ugh_ , come on, Rhys. You _drooled_ on me.”

He fights a grin as he wipes off the side of his face with his sleeve. “Uh, wow, yeah, that’s- that’s a lot. I think I’m feeling a little dehydrated.”

Her eyes narrow dangerously. They have a very brief but very dramatic staring contest before she pounces forward to straddle his lap and hold him in place as she drags her tongue from his jaw all the way up to his temple in one long, slow lick.

...He should probably find it much more disgusting than he actually does. It’s not that he _enjoys_ it, exactly, since the context isn’t even... You know what? Never mind.

Still, he makes this big show of being grossed out by it anyway, shoving her back with a scoff and rubbing his cheek off on his shoulder. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

“Now we’re even,” she tells him cheerfully, looking very pleased with herself as she leans back in to press a lingering kiss to his lips, and then several more gentle, fleeting ones after that. Probably as an incentive to stop being mad. Not that he’s really mad to begin with, but hey, he’ll never say no to free kisses.

“You’re a monster, you know that?” he informs her once she pulls away, to which she only hums in acknowledgement as she attempts to smooth back some of his hair. “Really. Just the worst.”

“But you still love me,” she points out in this jokey banter sort of way, but there’s something about how she says it that’s also soft, somehow. Warm.

Rhys lets out a heavy breath and pulls her all close again to press a kiss to the side of her neck.

“I find you repulsive,” he tells her seriously, words muffled against her skin.

Fiona pushes him back by the shoulders. She probably tries really hard to put on a convincing display of offense, but it’s kind of ruined when she starts laughing so much that she can barely even wheeze out the words, “Oh, screw you.”

“I can tell you’re trying.”

Just like last night, her face goes redder than he’s ever seen it go before. Her mouth also falls open and she just gapes openly at him like that for a full minute before she regains enough sense to smack him hard across the chest. “I don’t- You’re not- Just- _Shut up_. Asshole. I am _not_.”

“Don’t worry, I’m taking it as a compliment,” he muses, which earns him another slap, this time on the arm.

“Hey!” the kid’s voice interrupts, and they both look over to see them standing in the middle of the cavern with their hands fisted at their hips. “Will you guys knock it off already? I had to listen to you titter back and forth at each other for, like, twenty minutes last night, and now _this_? Seriously? It’s barely four in the morning. Would it kill you to save this PDA crap for later? You both make me want to puke.”

Wow. _Someone_ woke up on the wrong side of the cave floor. Rhys rolls his eyes as Fiona slides off his lap to stand and help him up to his feet. Ezra clearly took notice of the exchange, setting down one of the bags he’s trying to get situated on his shoulders to sign something to Isabel. They go back and forth for a second before he turns to Flick with this mischievous glint in his eyes, creeping up behind them to slide his arms around their waist and rest his chin on their shoulder.

“Aw,” he coos when they jump in surprise at the sudden invasion of their personal space before starting to squirm around in his grasp. “Is someone feeling neglected?”

“Ugh, _no_.” The color in their cheeks doesn’t seem to agree. They keep struggling, at one point stopping long enough to sign something fast and jerky before finally just stomping their foot and whining loudly, “Will you just- Get _off_ , Zeezee!”

Isabel considers the pair fondly for a moment before drifting over to stand in front of Flick, sliding her hands up along their jaw and leaning aaall the way down to kiss them gently on the lips. And then she pulls back, tucking a lock of hair behind their ear while Ezra turns his head to give the kid a peck on the cheek for good measure.

Flick looks about ready to collapse on the ground from embarrassment, mouth open like they want to keep complaining but apparently humbled down enough by all the affection that nothing winds up coming out. Fiona seems amused by it, but all Rhys can think about is how that sure is one hell of an off button.

“Oooh, so all three of you are an item, then?” Birdie decides to add from where she’s leaning against the cave entrance, already ready to go. “How does that work, exactly? You know, when you’re...”

She makes this really suggestive hand motion that causes Flick to blush even harder and Isabel and Ezra to smirk in something akin to self-satisfaction.

“I am _not_ answering that,” Flick asserts with a huff before addressing Ezra and Isabel, “You two, don’t answer that either.”

“Flick is ambidextrous,” Isabel announces as soon as they’re done talking. Ezra nods in agreement.

The kid smacks at Isabel’s arm, fuming. “ _Issa_!”

They all continue squabbling amongst themselves as the group finishes packing up so they can head out into the foggy wilderness outside. It’s much earlier than any of them are accustomed to but the sun is already high in the sky, the rain from earlier having cleared up and the moisture evaporating to hang in dense clouds of steam in the air. Birdie keeps expressing her confusion over the specifics of the trio’s, er, _dynamics_ , and while Rhys has the feeling it’s just an act to get under Flick’s skin more than anything else, he still evidently finds the need to open his big, stupid mouth and tell her that it’s really not as complicated as she’s making it out to be.

That makes everybody shut up real fast and cast these sideways glances at him like he just admitted his favorite pastime is stealing candy from babies instead of just having the misfortune of accidentally alluding to his sexual history. Except for Flick, who looks like they couldn’t care less, or maybe they’re just happy that he’s the subject of scrutiny now and not them. And he’s sooo glad he could do them this favor specifically. Really. He loves being brutally interrogated about the crazy, questionable things he did in college and all the crazy, questionable people he did them with. It’s great. Totally not inappropriate subject matter for lighthearted party banter whatsoever.

Thankfully, by the time they emerge from the treeline at the foot of the mountains, everyone’s gotten the idea to leave it well enough alone. Birdie takes the lead from Flick to guide them all down the southern side of the ridge, following the line of the hilly terrain until they come across an ill-maintained road cutting right through the middle of the trees. The pavement is somewhat easier to walk on compared to falling over roots and vines left and right, although it clearly hasn’t seen much use in a long time. It’s so overgrown in some spots that it’s difficult to keep track of which way it heads, but Birdie keeps on marching forward with confidence, and they soon find themselves at the mouth of a perfectly round, man-made tunnel leading directly into the side of the mountain, wide enough to compensate for the double-laned road and then some.

It’s dark once they all step past the threshold and underneath the cover of the structure, the sunken lights spaced periodically down the ceiling of the passage either no longer functional or simply lacking an adequate power source. Rhys turns on his palm interface as they move further away from the entrance so they can still see where they’re going, and even Flick pulls their flashlight out when the last of the sunlight filtering in from behind them fades to darkness.

The tunnel itself seems mostly intact save for the occasional small pile of rubble, which comes as a relief. There’s a whole mountain over top of them and if the supports were to collapse...

No. Shit. Don’t think about that. Everything’s fine. Really. There’s not even any real sign of decay yet, just abandonment and disuse. No need to get himself worked up over something so unlikely when the general creep factor of this hole in the ground should probably be of more concern.

In fact, Birdie is the only one who doesn’t seem bothered by how goddamn _eerie_ it is in here. Everyone else has their head on the swivel despite her reassurances that this place has been vacated for years. Group conversation dies out as the six steadily make their way deeper into the depths of this underground roadway system, continuing on in dead silence until Flick suddenly scares the shit out of all of them by letting out this high-pitched, blood-curdling _shriek_.

Fiona has her gun drawn in a heartbeat and Ezra whips out both of his too. Isabel sort of edges behind him, Rhys instinctively reaches for his stun baton before remembering that the kid _still_ hasn’t given it back yet, and Birdie just spins around on her heel to fold her arms over her chest in this exaggerated gesture of annoyance.

“For god’s sake. How many times do I have to tell you dimwits that there’s nothing living down here anymo-”

Birdie stops herself abruptly when this... small, fuzzy shadow runs right into the front of her shoe. She looks down as it scrabbles at the side, apparently trying to get up over her boot instead of going around. She bends over slowly so she doesn’t startle it, scooping it up off the ground before standing up straight again. Then she walks a bit closer to Flick, holding it up in the light so she can get a better look.

“Huh,” she says, tilting her head at the tiny, squirming creature. “Suppose I was wrong, then. Imagine that.”

The kid just about falls over themselves to get away from her and... whatever it is that she’s holding in her hands. “Keep that- Keep that _thing_ away from me. Whatever it is. I don’t-”

“Aw, did this precious baby give you a scare?” Birdie croons sarcastically, taking a teasing step towards them with a laugh as they hop back and cower against Ezra’s side. She doesn’t push it any further though, opting to turn and move closer to Rhys this time instead. “We call them sweetlings. Dunno what this one’s doing all the way down here, but they make wonderful pets from what I understand. Very docile and loving once you build up some trust. Hence the nickname.”

Once she’s standing in the light of his palm interface, Rhys can see that the animal she’s holding somewhat resembles a shrew. While it’s much bigger than any type of shrew he’s ever seen before, it’s still teeny enough to fit comfortably in Birdie’s palms; its large, floppy ears flicking around curiously and long snout nosing along her fingers. Its fur has this pretty piebald pattern, splotches of brown and red and white cast across its back and all the way down its fuzzy tail.

It’s... actually pretty cute, Rhys has to admit. Which is a first. And from Flick’s reaction, very unexpected.

The kid cautiously edges close enough to get a glimpse at it again before jumping back with this really weird, strangled noise that comes from the bottom of their throat. “Nope. Uh-uh. That’s revolting. It looks like a mouse or- or maybe a _rat_ -”

“What kind of mice and rats have you been looking at?” Rhys wonders.

“-and it’s just all... _eugh_. No. I can’t. I can’t even look at it. It’s probably super dirty and disgusting and it’s also weirdly big but still creepily small and I just- No. It’s ugly. It’s _gross_. Throw it away before I start freaking out.”

“I think you’re already past the point of freaking out, kid,” Fiona states, which gets various noises and nods of agreement from everyone else.

“Relax, corazón,” Isabel soothes as she moves to their side and slides her arm over their shoulders, gently backing them away from Birdie and the little fuzzball in her hands. “I doubt it poses any serious threat to us. Although the same cannot be said for the harebrained vagrant that’s holding it.”

Birdie doesn’t have any visible response to that. Rhys wonders if it’s because Isabel’s constant mocking is actually getting to her or because she’s just lost interest in their little game of cat and mouse.

There’s... also the remote possibility that she’s simply too distracted by the creature in her hands to come up with a witty reply like she normally does. She does seem to be staring at it with this weird intensity he doesn’t think he’s ever seen from her before.

After another moment, Birdie hoists up the animal to eye-level- or to what he’s assuming is eye-level, since the helmet makes it pretty hard to be sure- and regards it thoughtfully for a minute before raising it above her head all dramatic-like and announcing, “I dub thee... Petal the Vicious. No- Petal the _Bloodthirsty_. May you live long, live victoriously, and may all your enemies piss themselves with fear as you pass.”

The sweetling lets out this noise that sounds halfway between a sneeze and a chirp as Birdie lowers it back down, and it blinks at her intelligently before hopping from her hands to perch cutely on her shoulder.

“Please tell me you’re not keeping it,” Flick begs weakly.

“I think it’s cute,” Ezra chimes in as he reholsters his guns, wandering over to let it sniff at his fingers before patting it a few times on the head. “Flick, come on. Don’t be such a wuss.”

“ _You’re_ a wuss,” they argue as the group starts moving forward again. They grouse under their breath about how the group already _has_ an animal mascot and this nasty furball displacing him is an unforgivable offense, but nobody pays their complaints any mind. Not even Lucky himself seems to be opposed to the new addition, his nose poking out over the edge of the kid’s collar to blink at where Petal is hanging on to Birdie’s shoulder before tucking his head down again and going back to sleep.

The rest of the trek through the tunnels is relatively uneventful, with only the odd deserted vehicle or branching roadway here and there. Just when Rhys starts worrying if Birdie even really knows where she’s going, they catch a glimpse of something built into the wall waaay up ahead. It’s reflective and vaguely metallic looking, glinting back at them when they shine their lights towards the far end of the passage. They all pick up the pace until they’re close enough to see that it’s some kind of... door? Maybe? Or a gate of some kind? It’s large enough to accomodate for part of the road that splits off from the main one and turns directly into the wall towards it, but the interlocking panels are sealed up tight in the shape of an incomplete triangle right smack in the middle. Because of course they are. So wherever this leads, they’re not going through this way.

That doesn’t stop Birdie from heaving this big, long, exasperated sigh and handing Petal off to Ezra so she can try kicking down the door the old fashioned way. Which has absolutely no chance of working. Rhys can safely say that much. But since she’s clearly determined to use this entrance, he examines their surroundings to see if there might be a workaround. Fiona’s already doing the same, having coerced the kid into letting her borrow their flashlight for the time being, while Ezra, Isabel, and Flick all sort of stand off to the side like they’ve already given up.

“You guys gonna help out or what?” Rhys asks them with a raised eyebrow, to which he gets three eye rolls in return. At the same exact time. God, that’s so weird.

“I’m not certain there’s much help we could provide, unfortunately,” Isabel says, already lapsing into her idle state of messing with her nail beds. “Surely, you two are better suited for this task. You have this look about you like you’ve done things like this before.”

“Yeah, like, what the heck are _we_ supposed to do?” Flick adds on with a huff, like he’s stupid for even suggesting they make themselves useful. “We’re just the supporting cast. _You’re_ the main characters, so everyone knows it’s you guys that have to do all the real work.”

Rhys has... no idea what that’s supposed to mean. But he turns to Ezra as a last ditch effort, who only shrugs and points to where Petal is trying to climb up the side of his neck and make a nest in his hair. “I’m babysitting. This is me helping.”

Right. Sure. Typical.

Sighing, Rhys turns away and wanders over to where Fiona is inspecting the wall around the right side of the door, smoothing her hands across the concrete like she’s looking for something in particular. His first thought is she’s searching for a hatch or a hidden panel, which seems weird but... actually, hold on, that’s not that bad of an idea. If he could somehow get into the subsystems for the gate, he could probably figure out how to release the locks so Birdie doesn’t have to keep wailing on it as if she actually thinks she’s going to be able to beat it down.

So with that in mind, he moves over to the other side and starts doing the same thing, running his left palm over the stone and investigating any suspicious cracks or dents. He doesn’t have much luck but he keeps at it until Fiona calls out from where she’s moved to the other side of the tunnel by the wall directly opposite of the door.

He jogs over to take a look at what she found and lo and behold, it’s a control panel. Not _hidden_ by any means, but with how dark it is in here it doesn’t surprise him that they didn’t notice it before. She’s already opened the latch, metal door hanging open to reveal a confusing mess of wires that’s, admittedly, a little daunting at first glance. This might not be as easy as he’d hoped.

“Think you can get that gate open with this?” Fiona inquires as she leans her hip against the wall beside him, cocking her head to the side.

“I... don’t know,” he admits slowly, which probably isn’t what she wants to hear, but there’s no use in lying about it. “I mean I’ll- I’ll give it my best shot, but this isn’t exactly what I’m used to. This is just...”

“...A bunch of tangled up cables?” she finishes for him.

He makes a face. “Eeeyeah, I guess. More literal than what I was going for but... not wrong.”

He spends some time digging through the wires to check for any that might be cut or disconnected, but mostly he just stares at the box with his chin in his hand, stumped. For whatever reason, Fiona decides to stick around and observe with this weird look on her face like she’s half bored and half expecting him to be able to magically fix this thing with a wave of his robot hand. And just for shits and giggles he actually tries that, only for absolutely nothing to happen. No big surprise there.

But moving the light from his palm interface around _did_ make something in the back catch his eye, so he starts pushing all the cables to the side and out of the way until he can make out this small panel in the upper right corner of the box. He fiddles with it for a moment before it pops open to reveal a switch. Two pieces of tape with faded lettering are stuck above and below it, respectively, with the former reading _ON_ and the latter labeled _OFF_.

Three guesses as to which position the switch is currently turned to and the first two don’t count.

Rhys glances over at Fiona to make sure she can’t see the panel from where she’s standing, just that he’s elbow-deep in a bunch of complicated wiring. So he tells her smugly, “Watch this,” before flipping the switch to the _ON_ side, and all the lights in the tunnel flicker to life right on cue. They have to squint at the sudden change in lighting, but she does look vaguely impressed as he shuts the electrical box and steps away to feign a bow. He really could not have timed that better if he tried.

“That was pretty fast,” Fiona remarks suspiciously as they start drifting back over to where the rest of the group is now crowding around the front of the slooowly opening gate.

Rhys shrugs, spinning around to walk backwards so he doesn’t have to talk over his shoulder. “Yeah, well. That’s how it is being a tech genius. Troubleshooting goes like this,” he snaps his fingers for emphasis, “because, uh, it requires a lot of... problem solving. And critical thinking. Both things I’m extremely good at. You know, because of my... huge brain and all.”

She doesn’t look even remotely convinced. Even less so when he nearly eats asphalt by tripping over a rock on the ground he didn’t see because he’s not facing forward. “You sure it’s not just your head that’s big?”

“I don’t like what you’re implying,” he says with a huff, turning around as they approach everyone else and wait for the panels of the door to finish retracting into the walls.

It’s still pitch black on the other side of the gate once it’s fully open, but when Birdie takes the first step over the threshold, the lights along both sides of the roadway in front of them begin to turn on two at a time, one on each side. As they all move further into the cavern- yeah, the _cavern_ , not a tunnel like Rhys had been expecting- the fixtures gradually illuminate the rest of the vast, unfathomable space around them, and he comes to realize where the nickname ‘The Abyss’ really stems from.

This is just... unending darkness. All around them. Every direction save for in front of and back behind them. He can’t see the ends of the grotto to their right or left or even above their heads, and besides the road beneath their feet, the ground is nonexistent. It drops off right at the edge of the pavement and spans far down to unreachable depths, and the only thing stopping them from teetering off the edge is a flimsy metal barrier connected to a bunch of steel cables that shoot straight up, evidently grounded somewhere in the ceiling. Wherever it is.

It’s then that it occurs to him that they’re standing on a bridge, and a _floating_ one at that. Or, well, he supposes it’s possible that it has supports underneath too, but like hell is he about to lean over the side just to check. It’s unnerving enough hiking across this damn thing as it is, and they still have a looong way to go before they get to the other side. It’d probably be best _not_ to give himself a heart attack before they even get close to this stupid compound they’ve been nearly killing themselves just to reach over the past couple days, so he keeps his eyes up and straight ahead, watching the remaining lights before them switch on to brighten the rest of the way.

By the time everything seems to be powered up and functioning again, they’re about halfway across the bridge, and Rhys can finally get a better look at the building they’re making their way towards. Given that they’re completely underground right now, it doesn’t surprise him that the structure is built almost entirely into the sheer wall of bedrock that marks the end of the chasm. But he was sort of anticipating something... fancier? Or at least somewhat ornate, since these Orcus assholes seem to have a thing for grandiose and over-the-top displays of their success. But it’s... rather lackluster to tell the truth, and definitely not impressive in any sense of the word. It’s nothing more than a wide, squat overhang that looks like it might lead down into some sort of parking garage, not even a sign or one of their dumb triangle emblems to accentuate the front.

“Is this some kind of back entrance?” Rhys wonders aloud, unable to contain his curiosity.

Birdie hums an affirmative as they all keep walking, nodding her head at him over her shoulder. “Very astute. Though I suppose it’s quite obvious, isn’t it? The boys in white do love their garish architecture and this is nowhere close to standard. Only ones who were allowed back in this way were the lazy sods that sat on their arses behind the observation windows and watched us while we trained. Them and the environmental agency people who wanted to study the gravitational effects in the area. The Abyss was sort of a... multi-functional base, you see. Scientific outpost and Eidolon training grounds all in one, as well as some Division outreach for those interested in conservation efforts. Lots of hierarchy overlap, so plenty a toe were stepped on, believe me.”

Huh. That’s interesting. But now Rhys can’t help but wonder what the front of this place even looks like, considering the entire thing is under a mountain. Building anything down here can’t be easy to do to begin with, but replicating the same structural composition they use above ground? That just seems... unnecessarily difficult. Especially because of their weird fixation with using lots of glass.

Once the group reaches the far side of the bridge, a short ramp leads them down a steady decline before opening up into a sprawling lot lit by piercing, fluorescent lights. Looks like his guess of a parking garage was right on the money; while the space is mostly empty save for some trash and debris here and there, the occasional armored truck or SUV can still be spotted in the rear of the lot, close to the concrete walls enclosing the garage. Birdie guides everyone across the stretch of tarmac with confidence, straight over to where a little alcove houses two sets of elevators- a pair on each side- and a door on the back wall with a sign that probably used to say _STAIRWELL_ but is so badly faded that it now just reads _S AI W LL_ instead.

Rhys expects Birdie to head for the door since using the elevators seems a little risky given they’ve been out of use for who knows how long, but she slaps one of the call buttons and settles in to wait anyway, shrugging with one shoulder at the questioning look he gives her.

“Didn’t think anyone was really hankering to jog up about a zillion flights of stairs, give or take,” she explains, hooking her thumbs through her belt. “Just trying to be mindful of my less... physically gifted companions.”

Wow. Okay. Insulting, but still... weirdly considerate.

He looks over to Fiona, who shakes her head but apparently doesn’t feel the need to complain either. In fact, no one does, except for Isabel, who folds her arms in front of her and sniffs in disdain.

“And I’m so sure that _you_ would be able to make the trip without overexerting yourself,” she says, drumming her fingers across her sleeve.

Birdie lets out this short, sharp cackle that seems more like a taunt than a genuine expression of amusement. “Sweetheart, I took the stairs every single day when I was stationed here for training. Did it like a champ too. Wasn’t part of our regimen or anything, but contrary to popular belief, Eidolon training is about the opposite of sunshine and rainbows. If you’re not the best, then you might as well be the worst, and those pansy halfwits in charge of cuts didn’t hesitate kicking trainees out of the program and sending them back over to Tellus for even looking at them the wrong way. Bunch of hoity-toity knobheads, that lot. Always acted a bit too big for their britches. And they were all Division lackeys of course, because the Fleet doesn’t play around with promoting dullards past NCO ranks where they can actually do real harm besides just shooting themselves in the foot.”

Rhys doesn’t know what to say to that. It all just sounds... really intense and full of jargon he doesn’t fully comprehend. Isabel doesn’t say anything else either, Fiona looks interested but like she’s too busy connecting the dots in her head to add to the conversation, and Ezra appears to be... vaguely offended? Once Flick finishes signing all of what Birdie just said.

“I’m sorry, but you can't be serious,” he starts with an incredulous laugh. “I mean, not to praise the soul-crushing organization that’s directly responsible for: one, the oppression of countless galaxies including ours; two, the five and a half years I spent incarcerated for a crime that was completely justified and left me permanently maimed anyway; and three, the deaths of what was left of my entire family after already having been forced to work the Eridium rigs since we were old enough to remember how to work the machines-”

“Good lord,” Birdie cuts in. “Starting off a bit strong, yeah? I think I have whiplash from everything that just came out of your mouth. God, you’re tragic.”

Ezra gives her a dry look. “ _But_ , I was going to say, from my experience with the Division as an undercover agent, their structure is well organized and efficient. Arguably even the best of the three branches. If anything, it’s the Fleet that’s unstable, considering it seems to be staffed entirely with pretentious assholes who are so full of themselves that-”

“Ohhh, so _that’s_ how it is, Mister-Tech-Sergeant-Levinsky-Sergeant-Sir,” Birdie interrupts, tone somewhat mocking but, like, in a jokey way. “That’s fair. But at least _we_ have more than one high school diploma to share between the whole branch.”

Ezra narrows his eyes at the dig, but he doesn’t seem to be insulted. If anything, he seems like he’s enjoying this banter as much as Birdie is. “That’s... a wildly offensive generalization, especially when everyone already knows that all the dropouts enlist in Sec-Corps. All that time spent on your so-called top-of-the-line spacecrafts and in reduced oxygen environments must really do a number on the brain cells if you can’t even remember that much.”

“ _Pfft_ , alright, jarhead. Whatever you say.”

“Stargazer.”

“Straight leg.”

“Flyboy.”

Birdie gasps all fake dramatically, holding a hand to her chest and staggering backwards like he just delivered a mortal blow to her ego. “How _dare_ you. Take it back, Sergeant. That’s an order.”

“That’s going to be a negative on that request, Commander,” Ezra says sagely. “I’m afraid I don’t answer to you.”

They stare silently at each other for a moment before erupting into a fit of giggles at the exact same time, leaving everyone else to observe with various levels of bewilderment at the exchange that just occurred. Except for Isabel, who has this weird tic in her brow like she’s more annoyed than confused at their friendly repartee. She’s really keeping a death grip on that grudge of hers, isn’t she?

The group waits around a little while longer for the elevator, but when another minute ticks by and it _still_ hasn’t arrived- the number above the doors hasn’t even gone down a single digit in the past thirty seconds- Birdie heaves a sigh and whirls around towards the stairwell, grumbling under her breath about how the damn things always did have a habit of getting stuck between floors.

“I thought you said you only ever took the stairs,” Flick points out smugly as they all file through the doorway behind her.

“Funny, I don’t remember asking for the gnome’s opinion,” Birdie retorts.

“ _Hey_ ,” the kid snaps so loud and indignantly that everyone stops to turn around and look at them, which makes them falter and finish much more softly, “I’m... not a gnome.”

Fiona raises her eyebrows like she might not necessarily agree with that. Rhys just tilts his head thoughtfully. They certainly do have the height for it. Or, uh, lack of. Ha.

Flick scowls up at both of them like he actually said that out loud instead of just thinking it, pushing past to start stomping their way up the steps. The rest of the group turns to follow, with Birdie and Ezra right behind the kid, Isabel in the middle, and Fiona and Rhys bringing up the rear.

They make it maybe five flights before Rhys starts wondering how far up this stairwell even goes. The way it’s built makes it impossible to tell; the stairs alternating back and forth over each other between each closed landing. But even after ten, fifteen, twenty more flights, they’re still going, his knees growing weak and wobbly as they continue climbing level after level, higher and higher until it seems like there can’t possibly be anywhere left for them to go. How many goddamn floors is required for a training precinct slash scientific outpost, anyway? What the hell did they need all this space for?

His fatigue starts slowing him down significantly after that and at one point, he staggers towards the back wall of one of the landings to slump against it for support. He waves for everyone else to keep moving while he takes a much-needed breather, but given that nothing good seems to happen whenever they all get separated, Flick, Ezra, and Isabel come to the consensus that they could use a break too, while Fiona clearly never planned on leaving Rhys behind in the first place. Birdie is the only one who pushes onward, calling back over her shoulder that she’ll be on the top floor before speeding up to take the steps two at a time. Really? They’ve already scaled who knows how many flights now and she _still_ has enough energy to do that? Unbelievable. _Frightening_ , even. Edging on superhuman. The alien hypothesis is alive and real.

After a few minutes, Rhys feels confident he’ll be able to manage the rest of the trek up the stairs. And he does, but just barely; stumbling up the last few steps onto the top floor landing and nearly face planting into the wall again beside the exit out onto the main level. He hunches over a little with a wince, calves burning, _thighs_ burning, just- his whole leg and foot area smoldering like a wildfire. Fiona rubs his shoulder comfortingly- only looking better off by a very small margin- while the trio limps and hobbles their way through the door with the promise not to wander too far off until he and Fiona are ready to join them.

“ _God_ , I need to do more cardio,” Rhys wheezes between his attempts at catching his breath, clutching a hand to his chest and rubbing the heel of his palm along a cramp twinging uncomfortably just above his knee.

Fiona snorts, sagging against the wall beside him and shaking her head. “You say that like you already _do_ cardio, Rhys, which we both know you don’t. In fact, I’m willing to bet the only exercise you ever got at Atlas was for your vocal chords. Yelling at all your appropriated underlings while you just sat on your ass and did whatever.”

“Hey,” he says softly, mock offense seeping into his tone. “I’ll have you know that I got my fair share of mild to moderate physical activity in between crushing the morale of my employees from the comfort of my office, thank you very much.”

“Walking to and from the coffee machine every two hours doesn’t count, you dope.”

He pouts for a second because, uh, yeah, it totally _does_ count, to which Fiona grins and sticks her tongue out at at him like she’s all but twelve years old. He retaliates by snatching her hat off her head and messing her hair up real fast before she can do anything about it and- ew, okay, she has a _surprising_ amount of dirt caked in there, wow. But once she’s adequately disheveled, he draws his hand back to wipe his fingers off on his pants and then holds her hat above his head if only to watch in amusement as she starts hopping for it like a really pissed off rabbit.

“Oh, for- Will you just- _Rhys_ ,” she whines as he continues to dodge her grabby little hands, and she eventually switches tactics to stomp her foot and glower petulantly as if that’s really going to be enough to convince him to give it back. So when _that_ doesn’t work, she blows her bangs out of her eyes with this cute little huff and then shuffles forward a few steps to slide her hands around his waist. “...Please give it back.”

He hums contemplatively as she hugs him tighter, electing to use his free hand to tap his lips with one finger rather than ask her for a kiss out loud.

Fiona makes this big show of rolling her eyes and sighing all long and deep and dramatically like this is some massive inconvenience to her, but he’s not even remotely fooled. She still has this telltale twist of something warm and happy in her expression as she tugs him closer so she can push herself up onto her toes just enough to press her lips to his.

And it’s slower than he’s expecting. Light and gentle and lingering all at once, almost like she’s drawing it out on purpose. It’s not until she plucks her hat right out of his unsuspecting hand with an, “A- _ha_!” that he realizes it was meant as a distraction, a mere _diversion_ , and all he can do is blink disappointedly at himself as she dances away in victory. Oh, she’s a sneaky one alright. Much sneakier than he gives her credit for.

“If anyone else pulled that crap on me, I’d have kicked their ass,” she tells him when she sees his long face, finger combing her tangled locks before setting her hat back on her head. “You’re just lucky I like you enough to skip that step entirely and go right into begrudging yet resentful forgiveness.”

“Um, I think you meant to say that you _love_ me,” Rhys corrects flippantly as she walks back into his arms, hooking her arms around his neck and tugging him down until his forehead rests against hers. “But you are right about that other thing. About, uh, me being lucky. Because I am. Very lucky. Like, an abnormal amount of lucky, even. _That’s_ how lucky.”

That... came out a lot more jumbled and uncouth than he wanted it to, but it still makes her face get so red that he kind of wants to say it all again just to see how hard he can make her blush. But then she’s kissing him- like, for real this time- and he decides, no, okay, embarrassing Fiona can wait. Everything about this is way better anyway, from how she exhales softly when his hand finds the small of her back, to how her teeth graze his bottom lip, to how she curls her fingers so tenderly in the hair at the nape of his neck.

But mostly it’s just better because she isn’t paying attention, which makes it stupidly easy to yank her hat off her head for the second time and then bolt through the door with it before she can even register what’s happening.

It’s hard to tell where he’s going once he’s out in the hallway- the corridor poorly lit by the weak bulbs screwed into the ceiling and deep shadow engulfing every corner- so he doesn’t wind up getting very far before he hears the stairwell door bang open behind him. And it’s a well-known fact that Fiona is way faster than he is, so his chance of escape ultimately rounds down to a sum of a big, fat zero. He really should have thought this out better, goddammit.

She very nearly tackles him to the ground when she inevitably catches up, leaping up onto his back and panting and giggling right next to his ear while he just focuses on staying upright and keeping his arm out of her reach. He’s about half a second from totally bombing the first one though- she might not be heavy but she sure as hell is screwing with his center of gravity- so as a last resort, Rhys tosses her hat through one of the open doorways to their right. It hits the floor and sliiides its way over towards the darkest edges of the room near the back, making Fiona huff as she struggles to untangle herself and get her feet set firmly on the ground.

“Jerk,” she says, planting a kiss on his cheek and patting him on the shoulder as she passes by to go retrieve her precious headwear accessory. He will absolutely never understand her weird attachment to that thing, but at least it’s something easy he can tease her over.

Now that he’s not sprinting away from or getting sacked to the floor by one very determined Fiona, Rhys takes the opportunity to actually have a look around. Although there’s not much to see; the hallway they’re in is dim and largely empty, wide but not excessively so, and covered ground to ceiling in dusty, white tile with the exception of some exposed pipes above his head. Which is weird. There’s also no sign of any of the others, which he’s a little annoyed by, but he doesn’t think they could have gone very far. Once Fiona gets herself situated, they should probably-

Something... _odd_ catches his eye, cutting that thought short. A reflection in the window of the room Fiona’s standing in- an old office, he thinks, that’s what most of these rooms seem to be. But it’s just a glint, just a flicker. A spark of something, a flash of... _purple_?

The atmosphere above him shifts somehow, the space moving in a way it’s not supposed to.

Cold dread seeps into his bones as he looks up.

There’s nothing there.

Until there is.

A blur of motion, a blur of black. Something _slams_ into the center of his chest and knocks him backwards through the door opposite of the one Fiona went through. He trips, loses his balance, falls and then _smacks_ the back of his head on the ground so hard that his vision goes dark and his ears start to ring.

Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_.

“Shit,” Birdie’s voice sounds from somewhere nearby, pained and stifled, echoing his thoughts perfectly. But he can’t see, goddammit, it’s pitch black and his head hurts and he can’t _see_ and where is Fiona is she still safe what the hell is going _o_ -

The sound of the door slamming shut slices every thread of thought he has going down to ribbons, reverberating around the inside of his skull loud enough to make him wince. There’s this other noise too, something like... banging? Hollow... Hollow banging. Relentless and desperate.

And it’s then that he realizes it’s Fiona- _Fiona_ , she’s okay, she’s _okay_ \- beating on the window from outside in the hall. He can hear her voice too if he strains hard enough; muted but frantic, muffled by the wall but still clear enough that he can make out her demands for whoever just attacked him to open the goddamn door.

Birdie starts to swear again but cuts herself off with a cry- no, a _sob_ of agony, electricity suddenly hanging so thickly in the air that all his hair stands on end. Blue light floods from somewhere to his left, surging in like a kaleidoscope of bright cerulean before dying out again just as quickly. He tries to angle his neck around to see what it was, where it came from, if it’s going to hurt _him_ too, but before he can locate the source, a heavy, black boot _thuds_ to a stop right by his head.

Rhys blinks at the spots still dancing in his vision, following that boot up to the leg its connected to and then to the rest of the person standing above him. And his immediate thought is that it’s Birdie, because all he sees is the uniform. The body armor, the intimidating stance, the smooth, glossy helmet that’s nearly featureless save for the two dumb little pokey things on the top that sort of remind him of cat ears.

But no. It’s not Birdie, it can’t be. Her voice came from somewhere behind him. So this... this is somebody else. Somebody shorter, somebody slimmer and leaner and no doubt just as horrifyingly dangerous.

Another Eidolon. Another _assassin_.

And this one obviously isn’t on their side.

“Jun,” Birdie pants between gasps for breath from wherever she’s been detained already. “Jun, don’t... don’t hurt him. You’ve got me... yeah? Nobody else has to get dragged into this me-”

The... whoever this is flexes their wrist around minutely. Another _burst_ of blue light flares in his peripheral, another _shriek_ of pain makes him flinch. Birdie bites it short as best she can, hissing lowly between gritted teeth before the light fades out and she goes silent again altogether.

“That’s _Captain Hasegawa_ to you, traitor,” the person Birdie called Jun snaps in her direction before seemingly refocusing on Rhys. “And yeah, I’ve got you. After seven years, I’ve _finally_ got you. But the reward out for the rest of these sons of bitches is almost as much as yours is and I plan to collect.”

Jun jerks their wrist again and electricity _explodes_ throughout the room, and the resulting scream Birdie makes is enough to cause Rhys’ fight or flight instincts to finally kick in.

The logical part of him knows that he doesn’t stand a chance against an Eidolon. Not in this situation, not when they already have such a clear advantage.

But the impulsive part of him- the part that’s angry, the part that’s enraged and furious and _pissed off_ \- howls at him to do something, _roars_ through his bloodstream to fight, to fight, to _fight_.

Because he’s so tired of taking all this shit laying down.

Rhys sweeps his leg around as hard as he can, knocking Jun off their feet so fast that they barely catch themselves on their elbows. He’s up in a heartbeat, reaching for his stun baton before remembering- shit.

 _Shit_.

Damn the kid. Seriously. Damn them right to hell.

Without a weapon to defend himself with, he’s easy prey for Jun’s counterattack. Whatever, uh, that’s going to be. They don’t stand in any great hurry- apparently not overly concerned for their safety even with their back to him- and Rhys casts a withering glance over to where Birdie is incapacitated in the far corner of the room, hunched over and her arms bound helplessly to her sides by... some kind of cable?

Jun rolls their neck around as they turn to face him, ducking their chin low and opening their hand to allow another one of those cords to slide out of the armor plate encasing their forearm. And it’s _long_ , winding all across the floor around their feet before they catch the end of it between their fingers so it doesn’t end up falling to the ground.

“You’re going to regret doing that, you stupid pile of scrap,” they spit maliciously, yanking that thing up above their head and then bringing it back down hard with a _snap_ to ignite a blue, staticy current along the length of the entire thing.

Oh. So it’s, like, an electric whip... lasso... _thing_. Awesome. Neat. Painful.

Also, he knows he’s totally focusing on the wrong thing here as they stalk one step towards him for every step he backs away, but he still can’t stop himself from complaining, “Okay, just- Why is it that every single asshole I’ve met since I got here has found it necessary to make a robot joke? Like, I get it. The arm and- and the eye and all that but... It’s not creative. Or original. Really. I think you’d all benefit from getting some new materia-”

Jun whirls that thing around and catches him by the wrist with it, sending a white-hot _shock_ up his arm. The rest of what he had to say is swallowed up by a shout as his nerve endings boil, as they char and they scorch and they _burn_ \- like in the Vault, like with the storm, but it doesn’t stop, god, it doesn’t _stop_ \- and Jun yanks him forward onto his knees so they can bring their foot around and kick him right in the side of the head.

“ _Hey_!” Fiona yells from out in the hall as he goes down, voice hoarse and breaking. And she sounds so faint, he thinks, so very, very far away. Even as she starts beating harder on the windows and the taste of iron washes over his tongue. Even as Jun lets go of the cable so it can slither over and coil itself around him automatically, binding his arms to his sides. Even as the wildfire ripping through his body on a current burns brighter, burns _hot_.

“Don’t worry,” Jun raises their voice to address Fiona, and Rhys just barely manages to crane his head around in time to see them point an accusing finger at her through the glass. “You’re next.”

No. He can’t let this happen, not again, not _again_ -

Jun tilts their wrist without dropping their hand and the cord wrapped around him seethes with electricity, light surging, sparks flying, energy discharging through the air and heat _scalding_ across his skin all the way down to the marrow of his bones. He _screams_ from it, he thrashes and he _bleeds_ from it, but it just keeps going, and going, and going. Neverending. Ruthlessly.

His heart pounds in his chest like a drum. It squeezes so hard he thinks it might burst. It skips so many beats that he can’t feel his toes.

It threatens to come grinding to a halt.

“ _Jun_ ,” Birdie chokes out pleadingly right as his vision starts turning white.

And then it’s over. Just like that, it’s over. Electricity still skates over his body like a storm about to break but the biting, stinging, immobilizing _agony_ is gone.

He collapses with a gasp, heartbeat still fluttery as Jun’s footsteps give off a dull echo with every stride they take over towards Birdie. There’s this _explosion_ of noise from outside that they ignore but has him whipping his head around as fast as he can- stiffness and lingering convulsions making even that small movement painful and preventing his neck from turning all the way. But he sees Fiona, sort of, her silhouette vague and a little blurry; stance wide and gun drawn and aimed right at the bullet now stuck halfway through the window, its momentum having been absorbed by the glass.

Her eyes roam over the spider webbing cracks caused by the force of the shot, stepping forward to lay a hand on it in horror.

And then her expression twists into one of fury, one of rage and she _shrieks_ with it, with everything she’s feeling and everything he’s feeling too. Arm raising, fingers clenching, beating her fist to the glass again and again until smears of red start appearing in the spots her knuckles touch.

Jun doesn’t pay Fiona’s reckless attempts to get into the room any mind as they come to a stop in front of Birdie, tilting their head in thought for a moment before drawing their leg back to deliver a swift, _sharp_ kick to her ribs.

“Do you know why I’ve spent the last seven years trying to find you, Aviana?” they ask her as she slumps over with a wheeze, erupting into a coughing fit that Jun has to talk a little louder to be heard over. “Do you know why I never gave up? I’ll give you a hint, if you want. It wasn’t because of the money.”

“Christ,” Birdie hisses between gasps for breath, somehow still having the capacity to hack out a laugh. “Don’t tell me it’s _personal_.”

Jun kicks her again and sends her sprawling out on her back, planting their boot firmly across the center of her chest to keep her pinned. “It is personal. It’s more personal than your neanderthalian brain could ever hope to understand, since you clearly have no concept of honor or loyalty. In fact, it’s so goddamn personal that I swear I’d kill you right now if Katherine hadn’t made it explicitly clear that you were to be brought back alive. She must have something special in store for you. I only hope she’ll let me watch.”

Birdie groans as Jun bears more of their weight down on her breastbone, only barely managing to cough out, “ _Katherine_? I thought the... bitch went belly up after I left.”

“ _Deserted_ ,” Jun snaps as they remove their foot to allow Birdie to catch her breath only to _slam_ their boot down into her gut once she does. “And I don’t care how much she let you get away with before, you will _not_ speak of the Overseer that way. She’s given everything for Orcus. Much more than you ever did. Her own daughter- yes, the one every soul in the Federation knows you were oh so very fond of- is now _dead_ because you shirked your duty.”

Gagging and shaking her head, Birdie rolls onto her side only for Jun to effortlessly nudge her over onto her back again. “What the... bloody hell... are you even _talking_ about, Jun?”

“Joanna’s gone. Throat slit in her sleep by the very same people you were assigned to take out but instead went running to after your little game of house didn’t work out the way you wanted. The... Highlanders, right? Or maybe Outganders? Shit, I’m pretty sure it was something like that. You wouldn’t mind reminding me, would you? We can spell it out together.”

Birdie just breathes heavily for a minute, seemingly absorbing all this information that Rhys doesn’t have the means to understand. “No... No, that’s- You’re lying. That’s not _possible_ , Joanna can’t be-”

“Ah, but that’s the beauty of it, old friend.” Jun steps back and twists their wrist around again, and the cable wrapped around Birdie ignites with electricity. “This time, I really am telling you the truth.”

Birdie _screams_ from the pain that Rhys is now regrettably familiar with, writhing and rocking at Jun’s feet while they stand aside and just... cackle to themselves like a supervillain. Do they really not feel even a speck remorse for what they’re doing? At all? And where the hell does Orcus _find_ these people, anyway? Is there, like, a list of every human being in the universe with psychopathic tendencies so they can round them up and slap guns in their hands before giving them free reign to terrorize everybody else?

Rhys glances over at where Fiona is still punching at the window, the streaks of her blood now covering the glass so thickly that he can’t make out her face. She’s trying so hard to get in here when she _should_ be running away, or at least trying to find Flick and the others. They might stand a chance of taking on Jun as a group, but individually... the odds are stacked way too high against them.

On a whim, he flexes his arms to test the strength of the cord that’s still binding him, wriggling around and forcing at the cable as hard as he can. Like he was anticipating, it doesn’t give any, but it does deliver a small shock that makes him jump and yelp and go right back to lying listlessly on the ground, doomed to watch this disaster unfold before him.

“You abandoned me, Aviana,” Jun starts again, raising their voice as they speak and enunciating over Birdie’s screams. “We were supposed to be partners- we were supposed to be a _team_ \- and you _abandoned_ me. You shat all over everything we’d trained so hard to achieve. Eight years, we worked together; Pathfinder and Eidolon, tracker and assassin. And we were the best of the best. Top of our classes, paired together because pairing us with anybody else would have been an insult to our skill. Out of the entire Federation, we were the _best_ , but it all meant nothing to you. Absolutely nothing.”

Jun pauses like they expect Birdie to be able to respond to any of that between her wails and cries for mercy, but then they exhale heavily and shake their head. “Every other Eidolon I was forced into working with after you was a joke. They were all too slow and stupid to keep up with me, so I applied for training myself. Nine times. It took them nine times to accept me, and even then I was still ridiculed by my superiors. I was mocked and _scorned_ for even being there. Because a Pathfinder always belongs at the rear of the pack, right? Relying on everyone else to keep them safe? After all, we only have our silly little whips. How much damage can a glorified desk jockey do?”

They jerk their wrist back after another second and the electricity in the cable wrapped around Birdie dies out, leaving her trembling and gasping for breath.

“But now... well. Just look at us,” Jun murmurs as they stoop down next to her. “We’ve both come so far, but whereas I rose to my full potential, you’ve suffered a long fall from grace. Such a pity, too. You were so talented. Everyone saw it. I did most of all. But you threw it all away for a life that wasn’t meant for you and now you’re paying the price. No one remembers your name, not as who you once were. You’re just the traitor, the one who let Joanna die. And I’ve replaced you. You’re not the best Eidolon in the Federation anymore. I am.”

Birdie- for all the verbal abuse and physical torture- somehow still has it in her to laugh, the sound gravelly and low. “You will... never be better than me, Jun. Not in the ways that matter.”

“Funny,” they say like nothing is funny at all, sitting back on their heels for a moment before pushing themselves to their feet. “It’s funny you should say that, Vi, because from where I’m standing, it looks like I’ve bested you already. _You’re_ the one that screwed up and left tracks where you shouldn’t have and now you’re bound helplessly at my feet, awaiting transport to Last Man Standing at my discretion. Word of advice? Next time you decide to slaughter an entire patrol squad, take better care in cleaning up _all_ the bodies. Not just the one. Or at least make contact with your ship sooner. You know how Pathfinders are with their little tricks, always jamming comms and manipulating events so things fall perfectly into place and all their Eidolon has to do is just swoop in and...”

They trail off but the implication still gets across loud and clear. Birdie snorts dryly and heaves a long, exhausted sigh. “Shit. Should have known that was you. Point still stands though. You’ll never be better than me.”

That must have been the wrong thing to say because something in Jun _snaps_ just then. He can see it from where he is, even just staring at the back of their helmeted head. It’s something in their posture, in the way they’re glaring down at Birdie. They shift minutely, eeever so subtly, and when they start speaking again, their words slice through the space between the two of them like blades.

“I don’t have to defend myself to _you_ ,” they snap maliciously, ramming their foot into her side again for emphasis. “ _You’re_ the deserter. _You’re_ the goddamn traitor. You don’t get to pass judgement on me when all I’ve ever done is serve and protect our people from those who want to see us dead. _You_ turned your back on us- on all of us- and for what? All for- for some snot-nosed little _girl_?”

A beat of strangely heavy silence passes, and then Birdie warns from what sounds like between gritted teeth, “Don’t you talk about her.”

“She was a target, Vi. She was dangerous. We had to put her down for the sake of everyone’s safety, not just Orcus’, but you-”

“I said don’t _fucking_ talk about her! Don’t you fucking-”

Her outburst pisses them off enough for them to switch from kicking her in the side to kicking her in the head, right over where he’d estimate her ear to be. “And what did you think was going to happen? Huh? Did you think you could hide her? Did you think you could _contain_ her? She was destructive. You saw what she did to her own parents, and I’m sure you saw it in the five years you spent with her on the run. And we aaall know what happened at Light’s End. A power like that can never be trusted with so many unknown variables. You know this, don’t you? Deep down? That we didn’t have a choice? Neri _had_ to be ki-”

“Don’t,” Birdie interrupts, trembling with something that isn’t pain, seething with an energy that’s all her own. “Don’t you _dare_ say her name.”

“Or what? What are you going to do? You’re helpless. Trapped. The only thing that can touch me now is... is just...”

They trail off as Birdie’s helmet starts sparking, evidently having been damaged from the blow they dealt to her head. It’s a second before it dematerializes altogether, but when it does, Jun sucks in a breath and takes a shaky step back.

“Oh,” they say simply. Just like that. Just _oh_.

And Rhys cranes his head around to try to see _why_ they said it like that, but he can’t make out much from where he is. All he can really see is Birdie’s hair- which she has a _lot_ of, even though it’s seemingly buzzed short on at least one side and twisted back into dreads. But as she slowly sits up, the light filtering in from the window moves across her features, casting different beams, different shadows. A scar stretches across her forehead, not new but not old either. And her _eyes_ \- eyes so dark and wrathful that he’s frightened right down to his core even though she’s not even looking at him.

And then.

The tattoos.

Blue tattoos. Dark, devastatingly blue. They wind up over her left cheekbone, cut right through her brow, dip behind her ear to swirl out over the expanse of the shaved part of her skull.

“Jesus,” Jun breathes.

Birdie grins- not kindly, not even remotely softly- and her teeth shine stark white against the darkness. “Close, but no cigar.”

What happens next will forever be seared into the deepest recesses of Rhys’ memory.

Partially because, one, he’s never actually _seen_ a Siren before. Not in real life. Sure, he’s heard the stories of the ones involved with the previous Vault openings on Pandora, everyone has. But it’s always hard to pick out the truth from the exaggerations- or sometimes just straight up lies- and he’s heard not a small amount of people cast doubt that Sirens are even real to begin with. Like, they’re tattooed women who all share some kind of supernatural affinity for raising serious hell, and they’re so powerful, apparently, that only six can exist at one time. _And_ they’re also supposed to have wings. Or something. He’s pretty sure he remembers that being a thing.

Even he has to admit it sounds pretty far-fetched, and he’s gawking openly at one as he speaks.

So. Yeah. This is a pretty groundbreaking development that will probably stick with him for the rest of his life. Both because of all that but also because of the feeling that explodes across his shoulder when she ducks her head and starts to _glow_.

It’s like all the times she disappeared in a way distinctly different from how her suit’s invisibility function seems to work. Every time that happened, every time she made him _itch_. It’s just like that but compounded tenfold, like all those instances are occuring again but at once. Purple light seeps out from under the edges of her hand wraps and grows brighter until the cloth melts away, revealing the strokes and whirls of her tattoo spanning over the skin of her forearm. They’re probably usually the same deep, rich blue of the ones on her face, but right now they’re luminous. Blazing, striking purple, crackling with energy so profound and scarcely restrained that it looks like she’s _smoking_ , almost, like she’s about to combust.

Another heartbeat and the light reaches her cheek, her brow, the side of her head. Her eyes ignite with the same heliotrope fire before she lets them slide shut, tilting her head back and breathing in slow as she shrugs her shoulders to loosen the cable wrapped around her. It _snaps_ from the heat and falls uselessly to the floor, causing Jun to stumble backwards another stride.

Birdie rises to her feet. Jun trembles where they stand.

And then huge, _sweeping_ wings unfurl behind her, blindingly bright and sparking with energy and, okay, not quite what Rhys was expecting- he was thinking something more... well, _feathery_ , to tell the truth- but hey, he still gets credit for getting that part right.

“You _really_ shouldn’t have said her name,” Birdie says, her voice reverberating with this odd echo as she opens her eyes again and... steps out of herself. Literally. One moment, there’s one of her, in the next, there’s _three_ , the two extras almost completely indistinguishable from her original form save for the fact that they don’t have wings. And the sensation in his shoulder becomes less of a funny, tingly itch and more of a gnawing, creeping rawness that’s still not painful, not exactly, just... unnerving and distracting and undeniably _off_.

He’s so preoccupied by it that almost misses it when Birdie’s... uh... clones? Copies? Projections of some sort? Just... whatever they are, they stalk towards Jun, one closing in on each side as the real Birdie approaches them head-on. Jun scrambles to get away but Rhys shimmies around so he can stick his foot out into their path, catching them by the ankle and causing them to trip and fall backwards to hit the ground with a resounding _thud_.

“What- What even-” they stammer, sputter, kicking themselves along the floor in a futile attempt to get away. “What the hell _are_ you?”

Birdie barks out a laugh, short and sharp, tendrils of steam curling off her skin in a plume. “It always comes back to that, doesn’t it? Not, ‘Who are you?’ or, ‘Why are you doing this?’ or even, ‘Oh god, please don’t hurt me.’ It’s always, ‘What are you? What are you? What are you?’”

Jun’s back hits the front wall of the room, right under the blood-smeared window Fiona’s still loitering around in front of along with... everybody else. Flick, Ezra, and Isabel all stand at her side, the four of them watching with varying levels of shock and disbelief. He’s not sure how much they’ve seen- or whether the trio showed up on their own or if Fiona ran off to retrieve them from wherever they’ve been hiding out all this time- but the door is still locked and the window clearly isn’t designed to break, so all those four can do is observe helplessly from the other side of the glass.

“I’m a lot of things, Jun,” Birdie continues as she takes a half step closer, and a half step closer, her copies mirroring every movement she makes. “I’m a looot of different things. I’m a child, a naive husk of a girl that once thought the world was a bright place. That good and evil were two opposing forces, and that light would always chase away the shadow. I’m a weapon forged from my own tears and blood, from the ghosts of countless souls that were never mine to take. I’m a smoking gun of Orcus’ darkest atrocities. I’m an outcast, a fluke. I’m a lover and a wife and a widow. And I was a mother once too, not by blood but by bond. And then you motherfuckers took that away from me just like you take away everything else that doesn’t conform to your demented vision of what the universe should be.”

Birdie comes to a stop right in front of Jun and her projections stop too, all three of them drawing their swords in tandem. “But those aren’t the answers you want, now are they? Truth is, I don’t think I need to tell you what you’re looking for.”

“Vi,” Jun says slowly, voice shaking, raising up a jittery hand as if they mean to reach out and touch her. “Vi, I-”

She doesn’t let them speak. She just raises her blade above her head and brings it back down with enough force to drive it all the way through their body, straight through the center of their chest.

The sound Jun makes is drawn-out and _anguished_ \- a gurgly sob of betrayal, a strangled gasp of defeat.

Birdie’s copies stand by as she kneels down next to Jun with her left hand still grasping the handle of her sword. After a moment, their blades start spontaneously dripping with blood too; rivers of scarlet manifesting out of nowhere to run down the lengths of their weapons before trickling down to collect in little pools at their feet.

“I don’t have to tell you what I am, do I?” Birdie murmurs as she reaches up to deactivate Jun’s helmet, revealing pale skin, cropped hair, dark eyes that are wide and unfocused. “Because I think you already know.”

Their gaze slides around, searching for hers, and a wet, rattly breath racks through them as they rasp out, “You... cheated... By... default... ‘m still... the best...”

“Not in the ways that matter, old friend.” Birdie shakes her head once, slow and purposeful. “Not in the ways that matter.”

She touches their cheek gently, the gesture aching with remorse and familiarity. And then she twists her sword in their chest, just once, not to cause more suffering but to end it. Jun’s breath hitches and then falters to a halt and it’s over, it’s done, they’re gone.

Rhys lets out this long, _heavy_ breath that he hadn’t even known he’d been holding, thanking fate or destiny or whatever the hell for the fact that he’s not standing upright. The sudden crushing relief probably would have made him faint. Or at least made his knees give out. At best, it would have been humiliating, but at worst, he’d have ended up nursing his gazillionth concussion he would have gotten in the past three and a half weeks alone.

Everyone out in the hall looks like they feel about the same too. Even Birdie seems to have lost some of the tension in her posture, but she also looks... somber, somehow, even from this angle where all he can really see is how the back of her head is cast a purpley hue by the impressive span of her wings.

He... supposes it’s a complicated thing, killing someone you once worked with. Someone you once thought of as a friend. Not that he has a whole hell of a lot of experience with that. Or any, actually. But he can empathize. Sort of.

Birdie carefully shuts Jun’s eyes and removes her sword to retract and reholster it, bowing her head for a minute. And then her wings relax with a _sigh_ , kicking up a small, heated breeze as they flap and then fold up to dissipate into vibrant sparks and motes of dust.

Her copies disappear too, leaving her alone on her knees by Jun’s side. But she doesn’t linger next to them for long, pushing back the thick locks of hair that have escaped from where the rest are tied back before standing and making her way over to stoop down again next to him.

“Alright, mate?” she asks him with this wistful half-smile that’s probably supposed to be comforting, but all he can think about is how _weird_ it is to be seeing her face right now. He’s so used to the whole... freaky, blank helmet thing that he can’t find his words for a minute, fumbling mutely as she messes with the cable that’s still binding him. She eventually continues hesitantly, “I, ah. I hope I didn’t scare you just then. You know, with the wings and the time loops and the purple glowy shite. All that. Just... the whole bit. Tends to frighten people off quite a lot, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

Oh. That’s actually kind of... sad. _He_ thought it was pretty awesome- like, probably one of the most awesome things he’s ever seen- but he guesses not everyone knows wicked coolness when they see it.

He’s about to tell her as much but then- Wait. Hold on. _Wait_.

“ _Time loops_?” he finally spits out incredulously as Birdie finds the end of the cord and starts to tug. “Is that- Is _that_ what that was? With the- And there were-”

“Three of me?” she finishes for him, her smile twisting into what he can only describe as an... extremely self-satisfied smirk. “Yeah. Like I told you before, I’m very talented. Every Siren’s different and kickass in her own right, of course, but I dare say that _I_ am the sole winner of the superpower jackpot. That is to say, I make time my bitch.”

Rhys just blinks at her for a second as she continues freeing him from the cable, not comprehending. And then it hits him. “You can _control_ time?”

“‘Course I can,” she says offhandedly, like it’s not even that big of a deal. “In a manner of speaking. How’d you think I get around fast enough to come running to your rescue every time you get your sorry arses stuck in the thick of it? Or stop those energy cells from melting through the back of your girlfriend’s skull? Oh, speaking of which...”

She finishes unwinding the cord from around him before hopping back up to her feet and jaunting over to where someone is pounding very incessantly at the door. Probably Fiona, because Rhys doesn’t see her standing in front of the window anymore. Carefully pushing himself upright- wincing and cringing as he goes, apparently still a little stiff from nearly getting shocked into cardiac arrest- he starts shuffling his way towards the exit, using the wall to his right as support.

The second that door is open though, Fiona’s through it in a flash, pushing past Birdie and sidestepping Jun’s body to come crashing right into his arms.

His entire front _burns_ from the pressure of her snaking her hands around him and he can’t bite back a hiss of pain, reflexively leaning away from her until she gets the idea and relaxes her grip.

“ _Shit_ , watch- watch the-” He waves her off a little more so he can look down and figure out _why_ , exactly, the hell that hurt so goddamn much, because anything that gets in the way of Fiona being openly affectionate towards him is absolutely unacceptable and he will _not_ stand for it.

He quickly finds that the front of his shirt is damp; mostly from sweat but with a fair amount of blood too. And then he remembers, right, the whip Jun used to wrap him up like a birthday present not only electrocuted him so bad that his fingers _still_ feel like static, but it also burned him right through his clothes. He rolls up his sleeve where the cable had laid across the skin of his flesh arm and yep, that’s going to leave a mark. He also notices that the thumb and pinky finger on his cybernetic arm are just... refusing to bend all the way, and that his elbow won’t completely relax on top of that. That stupid cord must have messed with his subsystems somehow. No doubt something to do with the high voltage.

Sighing, Rhys brings up his left hand to rub it across his forehead and down over his eyes. Excellent. At least his implant still seems to be functioning correctly, so there’s one less thing he has to worry about.

“Hey,” Fiona’s voice sounds quietly from in front of him and he drops his arm to find her very obviously holding herself back from touching him lest she hurt him more.

And he thinks, screw it, and then sweeps her up into his arms despite the sting and _bite_ of his burns, peppering kisses all over her dirty, grimy face until her worried frown turns to a begrudging smile and then to quiet laughter in turn.

“Are you okay?” she asks when he leans back, sliding her hands up his arms to cover where his are cupped just under the sides of her jaw. “Seriously. It... didn’t look so good from out there.”

That’s... kind of a loaded question, given everything that just happened and everything he just heard. But he settles on a shrug after a moment, pressing his lips to her forehead and then her nose only to hesitate just over her mouth. “I’m better, now that I’m not, uh, tied up and thrashing around on the floor like a jackass. How’s your hand?”

“Broken, I think,” she replies cheerfully.

“Oh, good. That’s good. Great, actually. Fantastic. We both get to walk away from this traumatized and in desperate need of medical attention. Yaaay.”

“Yaaay,” she parrots back, and they laugh, softly and together, before sharing a fleeting kiss that conveys all the desperate, heartfelt things they don’t need to say out loud.

Once they rejoin the others in the hallway, they find that they’re all right smack in the middle of a debate about Birdie’s evident status as a Siren. This is apparently a _very big deal_ to those three, because Sirens have been extinct for over thirty years according to Orcus. But when that last part comes out of Ezra’s mouth, he, Flick, and Isabel all make this same face of belated realization. Because Orcus has this thing with twisting the truth and... yeah, whatever, they’ve been through this, like, a million times before.

So they’ve been lying about Sirens. Just like they’ve been lying about the Vault. Just like they’ve been lying about pretty much everything else to construct this narrative that they’re the good guys in the whole grand scheme of things, which nobody _really_ believes except for Orcus themselves, or Orcus sympathizers. But there’s no one powerful enough to put an end to their reign either, so it’s just this shitty cycle of pain and misery that never gets broken. The picture is getting clearer (and more depressing) by the day.

But there’s still a few things that don’t quite add up. What reason could Orcus have for lying about the existence of Sirens? And why would Birdie choose to join them even though she _is_ one? There’s no way they didn’t know. Hiding the tattoos on her arm seems feasible if she wore sleeves all the time, but the ones on her face are still a dead giveaway. Unless she never took her helmet off, which is... possible, he guesses, but highly unlikely.

But then, even Jun seemed shocked when her true nature was revealed and they were partners for... eight years? That’s what they said, wasn’t it? And they obviously had no idea, so what gives? What is he missing?

Birdie seems to be tolerating the trio’s questions well enough, most of which are centered around her abilities as a Siren and how she even managed to fit all her hair in her helmet, to which she answers, “If I say, ‘Cheers, love, the cavalry’s here!’ will that make it easier to understand?” and, “Very, _very_ carefully,” in return. So when Rhys gets a chance, he voices his own curiosity, but as soon as he mentions Orcus, she shuts down. Claims she’d rather not go into it right now, if it’s all the same to him. Which tells him there’s definitely something more here she’s not saying, but he doesn't have enough information to put his finger on what.

He starts catching Fiona up on what happened in that room while they all get ready to leave because apparently, Birdie managed to make contact with her ship before Jun ambushed her. It’s been waiting out front in the parking lot, idling and ready to go, but Birdie insists on taking Jun’s body with them. That earns her four scornful looks until Rhys gets to the part about those two’s past relationship in his very quick glossing over with Fiona, and then her scowl turns into more of a grimace. So now it’s three scornful looks and a vaguely disapproving one, which is barely an improvement but still an improvement nonetheless.

Birdie doesn’t seem to mind the thick cloud of disdain that lingers around the group as they all head back towards the stairwell, everyone else in front as she brings up the rear with Jun’s body in her arms. To try to break up some of the tension, Rhys asks Flick why the three of them wandered off when they said they wouldn’t and what was so goddamn important that it took them so long to show up. But before they can even open their mouth to respond, Ezra’s asserting that they were making out a few hallways over, Isabel’s nodding in sage agreement, and Flick is huffing and puffing and vehemently maintaining that they were _not_ , in fact, making out a few hallways over, but also not offering up any other explanation as to where the hell they were.

Sooo. That’s not weird at all. Rhys very wisely decides not to pursue that line of conversation any further while Fiona just looks like she’s trying her damndest not to laugh out loud.

Thankfully, it’s a much faster trip _down_ the steps than it was getting _up_ , and they don’t have to go quite as far because the back entrance they came in through was on a basement level. They all file out onto the main floor instead and make their way through the back hallways, passing by more offices and then huge, empty rooms with walls of smudged, scratched up glass that... may have been used for combat training back when this place was still operating? That’s his best guess.

Once they reach the lobby, though, the whole ambiance changes. Where it was once blank and dusty and clinical, it becomes... well, it’s still blank and dusty and clinical, but there’s this certain opulence to it that’s not present in the rest of the building. The room is at least five stories high and open to the floors above, wider than it is long but still gigantic no matter which way you look at it. The entire front wall is made of thick, sturdy glass, showcasing the cavern that opens up around the building out front. There’s a courtyard out there that was likely once well-maintained but has fallen into disrepair, and then a hangar just beyond it. There’s also this... gap? At the far end of the lot, seemingly cut right through the side of the mountain and leading out into the range that awaits them outside. It looks... kind of like a mailslot, to tell the truth. Wide enough to accomodate for multiple lanes on the road that goes in and out, but not much taller than twenty feet high at the most.

The group passes by a looong front desk that probably used to house security consoles or displays for the compound, the entire thing made out of granite or marble or something similar. The low rays of sunset filter in past the squat entrance through the mountain and reach all the way to the back wall behind the counters, illuminating the stained glass panels arranged and cut in the shape of triangles- yes, _triangles_ , goddamn _triangles_ , who would have guessed shitty, insufferable  _triangles_ \- and reflecting off in beams to cast the barren white room in a rainbow of color. Or really, just a rainbow of yellows and blues and greens, but the effect is still sort of nice. Better than the way it usually looks, probably, just all... boring and monochrome.

Picking their way around the odd pile of dirt and debris, the six exit through the front doors, cutting right through the middle of the courtyard and only altering their course to go around the large, multi-tiered fountain that doesn’t even have any water in it anymore. They reach the stretch of tarmac that obviously used to be a parking lot and there’s what appears to be Birdie’s ship right in the center of it, sleek and black and maybe a little on the small side. But hey, he’s not judging; he doesn’t even _have_ a ship, so she’s already doing better than him.

As they get closer, Rhys can make out some more of the details. It looks like a fighter vessel that’s seen better days, clearly still functional but the paint wearing through and more dents across the hull than he can count. It’s also called the _O.F.S. TEMPEST_ if the big blocky white letters stenciled across the side are anything to go by. Which is a decent name for a ship, he guesses. Again, toootally not judging.

He can hear the ship idling as they come within a smaller radius of it, the soft hum of the engine resounding lowly throughout the cavern. Or that’s what he _thinks_ he hears, at least until he realizes it’s actually just the defense systems kicking in as all the guns on the hull pop out and pivot around on their axles to aim right at the six of them.

“ _On behalf of the Collective Outlander Regime, I regret to inform you that you are trespassing,_ ” a somewhat masculine voice sounds over the speakers, ringing off the distant rocky walls of the chamber. “ _This vessel belongs to Aviana Birdsong, former Eidolon and Commander to the First Orcus Federation Starfleet, Sector Zero Zero. My scanning systems indicate that you are not her. Step away from the ship or you will be used for target practice._ ”

Birdie heaves this really long and exasperated sigh as she pushes past Rhys and everyone else who’s just standing around and trying not to crap their pants. “For god’s sake, Saga, it _is_ me, you sodding tin can!”

A beat passes, and then, “ _Commander?_ ”

“ _Yes_ \- sweet suffering Jesus- just let us _in_!”

The guns retract back into the hull instantly at her command and the cargo bay doors begin to open, a ramp extending out to reach the ground and provide a way up. Birdie goes first since the rest of them didn’t exactly get the warmest welcome, understandably erring on the side of caution lest more weapons pop out of nowhere the second they get too close. But then Fiona unroots herself from her spot- evidently a braver soul than the rest of them- and starts trudging up the way Birdie went, to which Rhys trails in right behind her since he feels safer by her side than lingering around out here alone. That encourages the remaining three to follow as well, albeit with much more noticeable reluctance and unease.

The cargo hold isn’t overly large by any means, so there’s not a long way to go before they reach the door to the interior cabin. It slides open to reveal a skinny hallway covered floor to ceiling in polished gray metal and made to feel even more cramped by crates upon crates of _stuff_ stacked up high on each side and in the back. It all surrounds a set of floating stairs that must lead to the main level of the ship, and Birdie is already halfway up- turned sideways to make it through without bumping Jun’s body against anything- when that voice from before starts speaking again.

“ _You have my deepest apologies for the mix-up, Commander,_ ” this... _whoever_ says, his voice seemingly coming from all directions at once. Which is kind of weird and disconcerting, since Rhys doesn’t even see anybody else as he and Fiona move further into the ship. “ _You were not within range when I performed my-_ ”

“Aw, don’t you worry about any of that,” Birdie talks over him as they all reach the top of the stairs. “I know you’re just looking out for me. All’s forgiven, my friend. No hard feelings.”

“Speak for yourself,” Flick grumbles as Birdie carries Jun’s body straight over towards the center command console so she can arrange them carefully on one of the mismatched couches nearby.

Rhys takes a moment to look around as Flick, Ezra, and Isabel all amble their way up the rest of the steps, quickly coming to the conclusion that this whole place is... a hot mess. Or maybe a total disaster. A hot disaster? There’s just... _crap_ littered everywhere, everything from food wrappers to balled up pieces of paper to dirty clothes strewn and flung over just about every piece of furniture is. The captain’s seat seems to be the focal point of the chaos, given where that’s probably where Birdie spends most of her time. There obviously used to be other consoles screwed into the floor and arranged in a kind of semi-circle around the main one, likely meant to divvy up the workload of operating the ship among an entire crew of people. But those have been ripped out in favor of shoving two couches, a loveseat, and a gargantuan leather recliner in the space instead, all centered around a shitty little coffee table parked right behind the captain’s chair that looks like it’s made out of a bunch of milk crates zip tied together with a sheet of glass glued on top.

After another minute of definitely not judging Birdie’s interior design choices, Rhys turns around to really get the complete experience of this place in its distasteful entirety. The floors are solid black with a faint hexagonal pattern he can only see when the light reflects off of it the right way, but the brushed gray walls from downstairs continue throughout the whole main cabin, all the way back to this kitchenette that’s built into the back wall of the ship behind the railing for the staircase. It looks more like a breeding ground for disease than anywhere he’d want to prepare food in, or even be within a ten foot radius of at any given time. Actually, he’s pretty sure he just got staph just from looking at it. Or maybe from looking at the small, foldable plastic table with this really tacky checkered pattern on it set out by the fridge that has so many unwashed mugs and plates on it that he gets the vague urge to walk over there and start piling them in the sink to do the dishes.

Which he suppresses, but only barely. He leans a bit closer to Fiona to ask, “Do you, uh, think it’s too late to leave?”

“Don’t be rude,” she chides him with a flat look, smacking him lightly on the arm. Oh, right, as if _he’s_ the one who brought guests into his own personal pit of misery and filth. If anyone’s being rude here, it’s someone whose name starts with a B.

God. Would it have _killed_ her to dust a little? Or even just... sweep up? She can control time or whatever, right? _In a manner of speaking_ , is what she said. Whatever that’s supposed to mean.

But still. Even doing it normally wouldn’t have taken her _that_ long.

“Feel free to make yourselves at home,” Birdie addresses the rest of the group as she breezes past, pulling Rhys from his... nauseating observations. “I’ll just be a minu-”

“ _Apologies for interrupting, Commander,_ ” that weird voice that seems to come from everywhere suddenly speaks up, “ _but as your acting medical officer, it is my duty to inform you that it has been exactly one hundred and twenty-four hours, fifty-six minutes, and thirty-seven seconds since you last changed your es-_ ”

“Guests, Saga, we have _guests_ ,” Birdie raises her voice in an attempt to drown him out.

“ _-patch and took your_ _spironolactone and-_ ”

“Sagaaa,” she whines louder.

“ _-esterone. It would be in your best interest to see to that immediately before doing anything else._ ”

Two doorways line the main room on each side to make for four overall, spaced evenly from each other and painted the same sheen of black as the floors. The crew cabins, if Rhys had to take a guess. Huffing, Birdie stomps the rest of the way over to the first one on the right- the closest to the captain’s seat- and the door slides open automatically as she approaches and mutters irritably to herself, “What the bloody hell ever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?”

The door shuts behind her again once she’s inside. Rhys turns back around to find Flick in the process of crashing on the couch Jun’s body isn’t currently occupying, zero hesitation. Given what _their_ place looked like back in that ruined city on Nona, that comes as no great surprise. Ezra sits beside them after a moment so they can get their head comfy in his lap while he reaches up to dig Petal out of his hair. Isabel doesn’t move from where she’s still standing at the top of the staircase, one hand clenched on the railing as she continues to examine their surroundings with distinct revulsion written all over her face.

Oh, good. At least _someone_ here is still sane.

Sighing, Rhys meanders over to take a seat on the loveseat directly across from the couch Flick and Ezra are sitting on, and adjacent to the one with Jun’s body. Fiona flops down right next to him, propping her elbow up on the armrest and leaning her chin into her hand so she can watch in amusement as he runs his hands over the pilled, puke-green cushions and pokes at a stain near his leg that looks way too recent to be comfortable.

“You’re making a really ugly face right now,” she informs him with a raised eyebrow and the beginnings of a smile pulling at her lips. “Just so you know.”

He immediately lets his expression smooth out from one of disgust to something more... sulky. He even narrows his eyes a little as he turns to treat her with one of his infamous pouty pouts with _extra_ pout dashed in just to spice it up, but it seems to have the opposite intended effect. She only grins wider and leans over to press a soft kiss to his cheek, which makes his pout ease some, albeit involuntarily. That’s really not fair.

Birdie emerges from her room again shortly after that, clad in something... very different from her Eidolon uniform. Where that whole getup had been all mysterious and intimidating, what she’s wearing now is just about the polar opposite. She’s walking barefoot on a pair of ill-fitting, raggedy jeans held up by a fraying leather belt, the legs waaay too long for her even though she’s not a particularly short person to begin with. Her t-shirt is tailored marginally better but is still all old and holey, layered haphazardly over a tank top and reading _NOBODY KNOWS I’M A LESBIAN_ in big, white letters across the center. She’s also wearing this dark, satiny mauve lipstick now, because he’s sure that was really important to her whole... ensemble.

At least her hair is neater than it was before, regathered in its ponytail and all the dreads swept back away from her face. He idly notices that she has one lone gray one in the midst of all the others, and that there’s a small stud centered right under her lower lip that he somehow neglected to catch until just now. All in all, it’s very... inconspicuous. That’s the kindest way to put it. But if he were being blunt, he’d say she looks like she just got finished going trash picking, and given the state of the main cabin he’s willing to wager her personal quarters more closely resemble the inside of a dumpster than a bedroom. So the metaphor checks out.

...Although he’s sitting here probably looking just as bad and smelling about ten times worse, so maybe it’s not really his place to talk.

“Alright, team!” Birdie claps her hands together as she sits down in the captain’s chair and spins around to face the command console. “You’d do best to listen up, because I’m only saying all of this once. Unless I forget I said it, and then I might say it again. But believe me when I say that I’m only saying all of this once, so you ought to use that squishy thing between your ears and listen real hard the first time, do I make myself clear?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Flick chimes in on cue as Isabel finally takes a begrudging seat on the other side of them. Everyone else just mumbles or grunts their acknowledgement.

Birdie tuts as she starts messing with her ship’s HUD. “Not liking the lack of enthusiasm from the rest of you, but we’ll work on it. Now, first off, there’s three crew cabins in this ship, as you all may have noticed. Standard is four, but I’ve made some... adjustments to better suit my needs. Haven’t had to share my space with anyone else since I made off with this old girl seven years ago. But I expect you’ll be grouping yourselves off and sharing anyway, so it shouldn’t pose too much of an issue.”

Rhys looks at Fiona to find she’s already looking at him, and then they both look away together, her cheeks turning as red as his feel. He... guesses they can figure it out later. Because of all the, er, _implications_ that come with sharing a room now that they’re... Yeah.

So. Later. Later is good.

“There are also bathrooms in each cabin,” Birdie continues, oblivious to his and Fiona’s, uh, _unique_ plight, “and there are showers, mind, which I heavily encourage you all to make good use of. Now, I’m not about to go around doing a sniff test, but if the rest of you lot smell anything like I do, you’ll want to be making friends with a bar of soap as soon as humanly possible. I’d be scrubbing myself raw already if I could, but someone has to drive this thing until we get off this oversized vegetable of a planet and break mass lock so my good pal Saga here can take over.”

She pats the dash lovingly as she says that, somehow finding the space to do so between all the bobbleheads and knick knacks that are littered across it.

But. Wait. So this Saga guy... is the _ship itself_?

The question is right on the tip of his tongue but Birdie beats him to the punch. “Saga, my dear, why don’t you introduce yourself to our new friends?”

“ _Certainly, Commander,_ ” he responds, the timbre of his voice filling the cabin wall-to-wall. “ _I am a Sigma-49: Auto-Conscious Informatio-_ ”

Birdie shakes her head. “Nooo, nonono. Stop it- Just- Stop. Can’t you skip over that bit, darling? We’re on a time limit here. In fact, we’re already well past our quota.”

“ _Apologies, Commander. I_ _t is just that I do not have the opportunity to interact with newcomers very often. I only wish to make a good first impression that will reflect well upon the Regime._ ”

Birdie snorts dryly, pulling her legs up into her chair. “The general isn’t here, you know. You don’t have to go kissing her arse in front of me. You know I won’t tell.”

“ _Understood. Allow me to rephrase; I only wish to make a good first impression that will showcase my depth and complexity as an endlessly learning and ever adapting AI. Hopefully in a way that causes numerous gasps of awe. Perhaps even an outburst of disbelief. Or two. But I do not wish to impose, so just the one would be fine._ ”

Nobody says anything for a few moments. And then Flick goes, “Wow. This guy is really full of himself, huh?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Saga replies sagely. If he’s even capable of sounding anything _but_ sage. “ _That would be an accurate observation, citizen identifier E7P-99318, common name, Kele Truong._ ”

The kid makes a pretty hilarious face at that. “It’s just Flick, you weirdo. And am I supposed to be impressed by the fact that you’re apparently a good-for-nothing snoop? Because I’m not. We already have one of _those_ in the party.”

They glare pointedly in Rhys’ direction as they say that, which makes this weird, dark, slippery thread of a feeling snake its way up to pull itself tight around his airway. What is this emotion again? He knows he’s felt it before- almost constantly, actually, and in very large amounts- but it’s such a foreign thing to be experiencing it because of something the stupid _kid_ said that he’s having trouble connecting the sensation to the name.

He has to mull it over for another second before it hits him like a ton of bricks. Ah. Right.

 _Guilt_.

Birdie sighs before he can even start to fully process what he’s feeling and why he’s feeling it, providing an easy out as she swipes at more stuff on her HUD and seemingly prepares the ship for takeoff. “Fine. You want to be a showoff, Saga, go right on ahead. But this is a tough crowd to please, as I’m sure you’re now aware. I don’t think you’ll be getting those outbursts you’re hoping for.”

“ _Thank you, Commander. As I was saying, I am a Sigma-49: Auto-Conscious Information Overseer and Utility Strategist, or SAGACIOUS, Unit. I am known mainly as Saga, however, as the Commander has informed me that Sigma-49: Auto-Conscious Information Overseer and Utility Strategist, or SAGACIOUS, Unit is too long of a name to remember._ ”

He pauses like he’s expecting some sort of feedback on that.

“It... _is_ kind of long,” Rhys says tentatively, unsure of what Saga is looking for. Reassurance? Emotional support? Validation that his name isn’t needlessly lengthy and over-the-top even though it is?

Fiona hums her concurrence as she props her elbow up on the armrest of the couch and leans her chin into her palm. “Yeah. Way too long.”

Ezra’s nodding before Isabel even finishes signing all of what Saga said and Flick mumbles what sounds like an agreement as they heft their cat up into their arms to bury their face in his fur.

“See, what’d I tell you?” Birdie chimes in smugly. “It’s just like SOCK. No one remembers what that whole damn acronym stands for. You just love your theatrics.”

“ _The Standardized Outlander Communication Kiosk and Voice Automated Briefing Engine for the Collective Outlander Regime- or_ _S.O.C.K.V.A.B.E.C.O.R., also dubbed SOCK- is an advanced communication and scanning system based largely on the structure of the existing AION, but with tweaks made to keep our network activities protected from Orcus monitoring. I work very hard to maintain it, Commander. You would do best not to bite the hand that feeds you._ ”

“ _Oooh_ , is that a threat, you big bully? You wait until we get back to Outlander. I’m breaking you down into the useless pile of scrap you really are as soon as I catch sight of your squeaky arse, just you watch.”

Rhys blinks a few times, confused by what Birdie said. “Wait. Saga, you- Aren’t you just an AI?”

“ _I am uncertain by what you mean by ‘just’. Please rephrase the question with less inessential adverbs._ ”

Rhys flounders for a minute as he tries to work out what would be less confusing to an AI that evidently has a thing against certain parts of speech. “I- I just mean... What Birdie said sort of makes me think that you’re, uh, more than that.”

“ _Please specify what you mean by ‘more’._ ”

He throws his hands up with an exasperated huff. “Just- You have a body of some sort, right? Is- Is that right?”

“ _Yes. That is correct. After I was appropriated and developed further past my original purpose, I was also given a physical form to make my added duties easier. It is useful, but as the Commander might say, ‘janky’._ ”

“He squeaks when he walks,” Birdie informs the group over her shoulder as the ship finally lifts off and she guides them steadily towards the exit out the side of the mountain. “Or whenever he moves at all, really. It’s awful. Gives me nightmares like nothing else.”

“ _It is endearing that you dream of me at all, Commander. I would dream of you too, if I was capable of entering a state of altered consciousness, inhibited sensory activity, and reduced ability to react to stimuli._ ”

Birdie leans forward to rest her elbows on the console in front of her and bury her face in her hands, shaking her head vigorously. “For god’s sake, Saga. Stop being a pretentious twit and just say _sleep_.”

“ _Of course, Commander. I would dream of you too, if I was capable of entering a state of altered consciousness, inhibited sensory activity, and reduced ability to react to stimuli. Also commonly known as the ability to sleep._ ”

Birdie spins around in her chair to make this wide, sweeping gesture at the whole interior of the ship. “This. _This_ is what I have to deal with.”

“He seems... very smart,” Ezra says after Isabel finishes signing everything for him. “If not a bit long-winded.”

“Just like Issa,” Flick adds on seriously.

“Just like Issa,” Ezra agrees, to which Isabel scoffs and smacks both of them lightly on their arms.

“ _It is not the outburst of disbelief I had been anticipating, but I am flattered by your backhanded praise nonetheless. I thank you from the bottom of my chest cavity where my heart would be if I had one._ ”

Birdie rolls her eyes and turns back around to keep her eyes on the gradually approaching gap and wilderness that lies just past it, but something else about what Saga said is still nagging at Rhys.

“Saga,” he starts slowly. “You also said you were... appropriated.”

“ _Yes. That is correct._ ”

“By who? Orcus?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“And... who did they appropriate you _from_?”

There’s a pause before Saga replies, which already strikes Rhys as unusual. His responses have been nearly instant thus far.

“ _I was-_ ” Saga starts, cuts himself off, tries again, “ _I was originally de- de- designed by the A- A- A- A- A-_ ”

His voice starts glitching out so badly that he can’t continue with whatever he’s trying to say, but he also doesn’t stop trying to say it. Or maybe he just... can’t. Maybe Rhys sent him into a paradoxical loop by asking that and now he’s broken forever. That would suck. Especially considering Birdie would probably kick his ass for it, and there's no doubt in his mind that there would be no surviving an ass kicking from her.

But thankfully, she doesn’t whirl around in her chair all wings out and eyes-a-blazing. She just sighs and knocks on the dashboard a few times. “Saga, dear, you in there? Think about something else for a minute, would you? Solve a math problem or something. Hell, I dunno. Figure out the meaning of life.”

That seems to stop the glitching, his voice dying out and the ship going silent once again. Birdie addresses Rhys over her shoulder, “He’s trying to say the Atlas Corporation. Orcus messed around a lot in his code but couldn’t quite work out how to erase his memory, so they just put a bunch of firewalls up around anything that had to do with those folks. Can’t have one of your most valuable assets blabbing off about how he’s stolen property, now can you?”

He.

Barely even hears the rest of what she says after the word Atlas leaves her mouth.

Even Fiona looks shocked, sitting up a little straighter in her seat and leaning over to whisper, “Before we opened the Vault, was Atlas working on-”

“No,” he tells her before she can even get the whole question out. No, they definitely weren’t. He’d have remembered a project like this one. Developing an AI wasn’t very high on his list of priorities when he had just been getting the company up and running again, so that means...

Someone must have taken over Atlas after he and Fiona disappeared after all.

But _who_? Who would have done that? Who took over the reins? And why did they make Saga? What was his purpose? His _original_ one, before Orcus got their hands on him and made him into what he is now?

His thoughts are a flurry, questions pinging back and forth and ricocheting off the inside of his skull at top speed. But all of that comes to a halt when a low alarm tone sounds out from the ship’s HUD, and he drags his gaze over to see a warning flashing on the screen notifying them that the last fuel cell in the ship is running low.

“Shit,” Birdie swears as they finally emerge from the hangar and into the golden sunset outside. Tall, sprawling mountains range as far as the eye can see, capped with blankets of white and snow drifting down softly to melt upon making contact with the windshield. But there’s not much more of a chance to admire the view before the ship is turning upwards and Birdie’s revving up the engines to send them hurtling up, atmosphere-bound. “Saga, please tell me we can scoop fuel from the star in this system.”

There’s a small burst of static before Saga seems to come back, his voice now clear and functioning correctly. “ _Yes, Commander. P4-RC43 is a class K main sequence star. Class K stars are expected to have a long and generally stable life, and they range in mass from-_ ”

“Focus, please, if you could. Will we make it before the fuel cell runs out?”

“ _Calculating. Yes, Commander. Though I believe we will be, as you would say, ‘sucking on fumes’._ ”

“Won’t be the first time,” Birdie grumbles under her breath, shimmying down a little lower in her seat as she brings up more windows on the HUD. “Calculate the route for me, won’t you? And then the route to get to Outlander after that.”

“ _Calculating. Route found. Loading coordinates and estimated trajectory path to your HUD._ ”

“Thank you, my dear.” Birdie spins around as more stuff flashes across the windshield and the ship continues racing up, a soft _boom_  jolting through the cabin when they reach speeds high enough to break the sound barrier. “Well then! It’ll be a long ride back to base, but anything’s better than trudging around Decima without so much as a map to point you in the right direction, yeah?”

All she gets is a vague noise of agreement from Flick, who seems to be more or less using their cat as a pillow as they make a very unconvincing effort at trying to stay awake. Ezra is already fast asleep, head resting against the back of the couch while Petal is curled up in a little ball on his chest. Isabel is, well, Isabel. Awake and alert but having no interest in adding to a conversation that Birdie has made herself the leader of.

Rhys and Fiona exchange a look. His head is still spinning with everything that happened today; from the discovery of Birdie’s status as a Siren to her showdown with Jun. And then also finding out that her _guy in the sky_ has actually been an AI named Saga this entire time, _and_ that he was evidently created by Atlas.

It gives him... hope. Not all the crap with Birdie and Jun, obviously, but with Saga and Atlas. It gives him hope that maybe his company still exists somewhere, in some form. And maybe it’s stupid to cling so tightly to this one thing- this  _one_ tiny thing out of everything else. But it gives him hope. Hope that their past lingers- maybe in pieces, maybe broken beyond repair- but hope that it _lingers_ , because the thought that he and Fiona are truly alone in this vast, wide, unending universe...

It's bleak. It’s a bleak notion. And he refuses to believe it because there has to be something left. There _has_ to be. Fate wouldn’t be so cruel as to leave them completely empty-handed in a world that’s no longer theirs.

He turns back to Birdie, who’s watching the both of them with a quirked eyebrow and this playful twist to her mouth.

“You two ready to fulfill your destiny?” she asks them, which is ominous, but maybe fitting.

Fiona slides her hand over his, twining their fingers together as they both nod once.

Because whatever awaits them doesn’t stand a chance. Not as long as they’re together.

Birdie grins and whirls back around to her console, slapping her palm on the dash. “Long, boring road trips always call for tunes! Saga, put on my playlist. You know the one.”

“ _Yes, Commander._ ”

“And don’t you go sneaking in any new tracks on me. I might have liked every single one you’ve put on there in the past, but we can’t be having any more of that. Down with the robot revolution, I say! Burn it all to the ground!”

“ _That is incredibly offensive, Commander. But of course._ ”

“Oh, and one more thing, Saga.”

“ _Yes, Commander?_ ”

The view outside the window darkens with the view of deep space, far-off stars spilling across their sightline from behind all the holographic displays on the HUD.

“Take us home, if you would,” Birdie tells Saga, smiling softly to herself as music begins to play through the speakers in the cabin and she spins around a few times in her chair.

“ _Yes, Commander_ ,” Saga says. “ _Right away._ ”

Fiona squeezes Rhys’ fingers tight as the ship blasts forward and rattles all around them, and he squeezes hers right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone say "Thanks JC for not ending on a terrible, awful, no good cliffhanger for once!!" It was tempting. I was extremely tempted.  
> Also check out [Birdie's mixtape](https://open.spotify.com/user/fxxg4woe7dwmo5xwuup4v6a2k/playlist/6kIdy1s9wiGhoQLy7o4tkg?si=VuibKf6CQh21B71FXr151A), it's so fire. Also also, [more fanart](https://medjc.tumblr.com/post/179498382197/let-me-die-first-or-ill-die-twice-yeah-yeah-yeah). Y'all know the drill by now.  
> BUT I'm very happy to FINALLY have this done for you guys! Whew! I wasn't sure if I'd be able to make it in my usual three month time frame since things have been hectic for me lately but I did it! Now to go fall into a coma for the next month and a half so I can start the process all over again. And thus the cycle repeats...  
> I just want to give a BIG thank you to all of you because again, all your kind words of support really do so much to keep me encouraged. There have been a lot of times where I've gotten frustrated with this AU and wanted to quit writing it altogether but I've pushed through and we're still alive and kicking, babey!! So thank you all so so much!!! I love every single one of you with all my heart!!!  
> And I know things are getting weird but believe me when I say they're about to get a LOT weirder, so buckle up kids. It's gonna be a ride. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


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